Columbia Ghost Story
by Silbrith
Summary: A ghost haunts the Columbia University campus. Neal visits Electra's home. October 2005. Fluff: Halloween, Peter and El's anniversary. Crossed Lines story #6, a fusion of Supernatural with Caffrey Conversation.
1. Tangerine Glow

_Notes: Columbia Ghost Story takes place after the events in The Musicians. __The first chapter contains the essentials of the backstory for new readers. I also wrote a post__ for our blog on the status of the key players at the beginning of the story__. The post is called "Destination: Columbia Ghost Story." See the notes at the end of the chapter for more information._

* * *

**Chapter 1: Tangerine Glow**

**Columbia University. October 27, 2005. Thursday evening. **

"What treasure lies below?" Mozzie murmured, tilting the headlamp on his helmet to shine into the dark cavity in front of him.

He'd found the manhole cover concealed behind steam pipes in a restricted area of the tunnels east of Low Library. Would this be the mother lode?

In the year since Neal introduced him to the network of tunnels lying underneath the Columbia University campus, Mozzie had discovered several lost passageways—a remarkable achievement which, if word ever got out, would place him at the pinnacle of the Columbia spelunking hall of fame. But the grand prize had so far proved elusive. He'd yet to find a way to access the point of origin—the Big Bang from which all tunnels derived.

The earliest tunnels were built of brick. They dated back to the years when the Bloomingdale Insane Asylum occupied the land now owned by the university. The asylum opened in 1821. Considered to be one of the most progressive institutions of its kind, it provided a working farm, orchards, and vegetable gardens for its patients. There were separate villas for wealthy residents. The university bought the land in 1892. The only building currently on campus from asylum times—Buell Hall—was one of those villas.

If Mozzie could access the tunnels from the early 1800s what would he discover? Would he be like Howard Carter peering at the priceless artifacts of Tutankhamun's tomb? Then Neal would rue the day he'd declined joining him on the quest.

Except for a few promising lads like Quint from the SETI working group, Mozzie had failed to convert others to his belief that tunnel slime could prove extraterrestrials had visited Earth. The ooze he'd found on the brick walls of old tunnels might even contain alien sleeper cells waiting to be awakened.

Mozzie patted his knapsack to confirm his collection bags were in place, took a deep breath, and dropped down the manhole.

A short iron ladder led to a brick passage. Pulling out his compass, he checked the direction. As expected, it was heading east—straight to Buell Hall. Mozzie had yet to explore the labyrinth under the building. Would it be the mother ship for alien slime?

The brick tunnel appeared to be the oldest he'd ever explored. He took samples of the mortar for future analysis in his bunker. All the other tunnels in the area were hot from uninsulated steam pipes, but not this one. It may have escaped detection for over a hundred years.

Mozzie's breath quickened. If aliens had indeed visited New York in the nineteenth century as he postulated, the evidence could have remained undisturbed on these walls, hidden from the world. He retrieved a flashlight from his knapsack and began a methodical search of the bricks, hoping against hope for the telltale gelatinous remains—

"Shades of Einstein!"

In front of him was the most miraculous tangerine-colored slime he'd ever discovered. And he was convinced he'd studied examples of every known viscous organism. Nothing came close to the DayGlo-orange beauty in front of him.

He shook off his astonishment. Documentation was vital. Who knew what disaster could befall? The wall could crumble away and he'd be left with nothing. He first took out his custom camera and shot several photos from different distances, finishing off with his macro lens. Then it was time for the sampling. His heart raced at a speed which formerly only his girlfriend Janet had caused during intense exchanges of pheromonal bliss. Painstakingly he scraped two, no three teaspoons of slime into the waiting containers. That still left an ample amount undisturbed.

A slight breeze penetrated the passageway. Where was the coolness coming from? Was there an opening to the upper world? He turned around and his mouth dropped. Tangerine-colored gas was seeping from a crack in the wall. He watched spellbound as it coalesced into something roughly his height and assumed the appearance of . . . a man in a frock coat with a bushy beard and mutton chops.

Mozzie swallowed as the figure drew closer. The features were distinct but curiously translucent. This was no man, this was a . . .

With a piercing shriek guaranteed to freeze it in its tracks, Mozzie bolted for the manhole.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"That's right. It was a ghost." Neal paused to enjoy the mixture of amusement, skepticism, and fearful belief on his team members' faces. The moment made it worth being awakened from a sound sleep by a frantic Mozzie babbling about tangerine goo.

When Neal arrived at work the following morning, he convoked an emergency briefing in the breakroom for Diana, Jones, and, of course, their tech and SETI expert Travis. It was truly unfortunate that Peter was in a meeting with Hughes. The silver lining was that after the account Neal had just related to the others, he'd be able to deliver an even more spectacular performance for their commander.

"Did you see the slime?" Diana demanded, always the skeptic.

Neal nodded earnestly. "I'd say the shade is closer to pumpkin than tangerine, but it's definitely spectacular."

"Was it worth the four of you lollygagging while the rest of us work?" Peter asked pointedly, walking up from behind.

"Mozzie found a ghost in the tunnels under Columbia," Jones explained.

"A Victorian ghost, no less," Diana pointed out. "The historical reference is a nice touch."

Neal handed him the drawing. "Mozz insisted I make a sketch from his description."

Peter snorted his disbelief. Diana's reaction had been similar. "Did the ghost chase him? Harm him in any way?"

"He fled before the ghost had a chance," Neal explained. "Under sufficient duress, Mozzie can sprint with the best of them."

"He's pranking you," Peter declared. "This sounds like the time Mozzie dressed up in a Ghostbusters' costume to check out June's closets. The speakeasy party will be this Sunday. He's laying the groundwork."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Travis countered. "He has samples of viscous ooze. He was lucky he wasn't slimed."

"Not our jurisdiction," Peter noted with satisfaction.

"But it is someone else's," Diana pointed out. "Did Mozzie contact the Winchesters?"

"He plans to," Neal confided, happy to provide the evidence Mozzie wasn't joking.

"Are you going to let Henry know?" Jones asked. "He's coming to the party. If Mozzie intends to turn it into a poltergeist bash, he should be warned."

And Henry wasn't the only one sensitive to phantoms. Jones was right there with him.

"There will be no hijacking of this event," Diana said firmly. "This is _not_ a Halloween fright night. We're celebrating the successful takedown of Klaus and Rolf Mansfeld."

"And the contributions your Arkham Files stories made to that success," Peter added.

She nodded appreciatively. "Thank you, boss. Our clothes will be symbolic of the disguises Rolf and Klaus used on us and our successful counterattacks. They are _not_ Halloween costumes."

"You could consider our attire a tribute to the costumes we wore to the gaming convention N-Con last October," Jones said. "That case was when we obtained confirmation of Rolf's malware."

Neal raised his coffee mug to them. "And now, a year later, we can celebrate the demise of Azathoth."

"I've heard that some intend to wear the same outfits they wore to N-Con," Travis said, slanting a glance at Diana.

Mozzie's girlfriend Janet, who was a costume designer, had generously arranged for costumes through a wholesale supplier. For the gaming convention last autumn, the team wore Roman costumes. Diana's Cleopatra look was a particular favorite. Would she resurrect her role? Neal knew better than to tease her about it in advance, but Diana's girlfriend Christie had met her when Diana was wearing the costume. She'd likely insist on an encore.

Peter filled his FBI mug with the team's custom blend of swill. "You have ten minutes, folks, till the morning briefing. I expect your complete focus to be on Bureau cases. I'm sure you remember there's no mention of slime of any color on the agenda."

As the others scattered, Neal lingered to talk with Peter. "The party will prevent you from having your traditional Halloween stargazing weekend at the cabin. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. As it turns out, Joe asked if he could have it for the weekend."

Last year Peter's brother had proposed to Noelle at the cabin over the Halloween weekend. When Neal, Peter, and El unexpectedly showed up, they'd inadvertently crashed their secret getaway. "They'll appreciate being left in peace this year."

Peter nodded. "Their Halloween getaway has the appearance of a new tradition. I plan to switch the stargazing weekend to the spring."

"A Messier Marathon?"

"You remembered!"

"You told me about it last summer during the astro camp for kids. One night to binge on deep sky objects, as I recall."

Peter nodded. "The weekend of April first is supposed to have excellent viewing. I've already earmarked it on my calendar. Any chance I could persuade you to join us?"

"Count me in. After the previous round of practical jokes on April Fools' Day, Henry might seek a grudge match. The cabin should be far enough away to avoid any retaliation."

"Good thinking. I've already told El to keep her schedule free. She couldn't have gone this weekend because of her community theater production. She won't be able to use that excuse in the spring."

El would make her debut as Gillian the witch in _Bell, Book and Candle_ tomorrow night. Neal, as well as many of the other team members, planned to attend. Because of it, the speakeasy party had been postponed to Sunday.

"Electra wrote that she'll be at the premiere," Peter added. "With her foundation providing the subsidy, the players' nerves are heightened to a fevered pitch."

Electra Stavrou was the owner of the Elysian Bookstore in New Haven and served on the board of her family's foundation. The store was known for having the best collection of art books on the East Coast, and Electra enhanced its reputation by holding monthly soirées for young artists. Her foundation had endeared itself to Columbia University last month when it rescued a marsh next to the university boathouse which had been slated for development.

"El's cheerleaders will be there in force," Neal said. "Mozzie, Janet, Angela, and Michael plan to attend. In addition, I heard from Aidan that he and Keiko will be there."

Peter smiled. "What with the White Collar contingent coming too, we may sell out the playhouse by ourselves."

"Henry's sorry that he won't be back in time, but he and Eric return from Guatemala late that evening."

Peter lowered his voice. "You swear Mozzie's not dreamed up the ghost for Henry's benefit?"

"Positive." Neal paused to check no one was within earshot. "I have a favor to ask."

"What's that?"

"A while back you offered to run interference with any would-be matchmakers. I'd like to take you up on it."

Peter chuckled. "Do you realize how good that sounds? I'll take scheming matchmakers any day over the Mansfelds."

"Me too," Neal agreed. Peter didn't know that Neal and Sara had been secretly dating for two months. Mozzie was the only one privy to their con, and Neal hoped to keep it that way for a few more weeks. Henry had been the driving force behind their subterfuge. For over a year, he'd been scheming to bring them together without ever directly asking them if they were interested in each other. Neal and Sara intended to reciprocate in the best way possible. They intended to plant clues to let him guess their secret but on their own timetable. And the first salvo would be to blow some smoke his way. "Henry's protective instincts are still in overdrive."

Peter smiled. "And you're not interested in his chaperone service, I imagine."

"Exactly. I have a date planned for next Friday and would like to keep it private. I noticed _Dark Universe_ is playing at the Haydn Planetarium. If he asks about me, could you lead him to think that you and I are going to see it on Friday?"

"I'll be happy to, especially if you agree to a raincheck."

"Gladly."

"Good, I'll make sure it doesn't conflict with a date night. El's evenings are taken up by the play. I can tell Henry that the event is to make up for the cancellation of our Halloween stargazing. He just won't know we'll be seeing it at another time." He paused for a moment. "Have you considered Henry may have a partner?"

"Namely your wife? The thought occurred to me, especially with the romantic plot going on in Diana's stories. Henry claims he doesn't read them, but I have a hard time believing that's true."

"I do, too. Since he's not a member of the Arkham Round Table writing group, he'd need to prevail on someone to be an intermediary."

"And El's the logical choice." He was delighted that Peter spotted the conspiracy without being prompted. Neal was tempted to go ahead and tell him about Sara. But if he did, he'd place Peter in the decidedly awkward position of having to keep it a secret from his wife.

"El and Henry have conspired before," Peter noted. "It's only fair for us to reciprocate."

"My sentiments exactly."

"This will be our secret."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Sam got off the phone, he headed outside in search of his brother. They were spending the day with Bobby in New Jersey. The house was a loaner from a fellow hunter named Rufus who'd accumulated various safe houses throughout the country. The place was nothing to brag about, but it had a well-stocked garage ideal for their purposes. Dean hoped a new fan belt would silence the annoying high-pitched scream the Impala made whenever he slammed on the brake. It sounded eerily like a banshee had hitchhiked a ride.

As expected, Dean and Bobby were performing surgery on the Impala parked on the driveway.

"Mozzie called," Sam told them. "Anyone hear of tangerine ectoplasm?"

"Sure." Dean grunted as he tightened a pulley. "Commonly seen at frat houses during beer parties."

Bobby wiped his hands on a rag. "That don't sound like Mozzie's gig. Where'd he find it?"

"In an old brick tunnel under Columbia University." Sam paused for a moment before mentioning the clincher. "He also claims he saw a ghost."

Dean smiled. "Now it's beginning to sound like Mozzie. Where was it?"

"At the same spot. He saw it emerge from the wall in an orange fog. He didn't linger to see what it'd do next. Luckily, he'd already collected samples, thinking he'd found a new type of slime. When he got home, he used a meter on the goo. Supposedly the EMF reading was off the chart."

"That's no ordinary slime, then." Bobby exhaled noisily. "Orange fog, orange ectoplasm . . . Now where have I read about that? Give me a minute. It'll come to me."

An hour later, helped along by a shot of whiskey, Bobby found the source in an old journal which was all that was left of a German hunter from the nineteenth century.

Dean and Sam pulled up chairs to sit at the battered pine dining table while Bobby searched the contents of the ledger-sized notebook.

"Orange ectoplasm is the sign of an eidolon," Bobby explained.

"Eidolon . . . " Dean repeated slowly, looking thoughtful. "I've heard that word before."

"It's the Greek word for _ghost_," Sam supplied, "but I don't know if it has any special significance."

Bobby jabbed his finger at the journal. "This hunter found the answer. We've all had to deal with our share of mean spirits who are thirsting for blood, vengeance, or whatever injustice they're bellyaching about. According to this hunter, their home away from home is Oblivion."

"That some kind of underworld?" Dean asked.

Bobby nodded. "It's an ancient concept. Goes back to the Greeks and Romans. Oblivion is the realm of dark spirits—vampires, witches, vengeful spirits. Once you chop off a vampire's head, its spirit—soul or whatever you want to call it—winds up there. Occasionally one of the dark spirits returns to the living world. That's an eidolon. Supposedly eidolons don't necessarily kill, at least not right away. The hunter wrote he came across some victims who looked like they were in a deep sleep. They died two days later."

Dean set down his beer bottle and frowned. "Did the hunter clue us in on how to send them back to Oblivion?"

"Nope." Bobby took a swig of whiskey. "That chore's on us."

Dean grimaced. "Typical."

Bobby turned a page of the journal and pulled out what appeared to be a sheet of vellum.

"What's that?" Sam asked. Anything out of vellum had to be very old and probably valuable.

"That's what I've been asking myself," Bobby said, scowling at it. "It was inserted next to the passage about Oblivion. It's ancient. I can tell you that much. That's fine grade sheepskin like I've seen on some manuscripts of the early Christian era. I think the writing's Coptic. You take a look." He handed it to Sam.

Dean raised a brow. "You're the egghead in the family. What's the verdict?"

"I was studying law at Stanford, not ancient languages."

"Then maybe you should call Maia," Dean suggested. "I knew there was a good reason for you to date a classics scholar."

"Dean's right," Bobby urged. "The Copts were active during the Greco-Roman era. If she can't decipher it, she probably knows someone who can. Maia hobnobs with scholars at Yale and Columbia. Someone must read Coptic."

Bobby didn't need to press. Any excuse to see Maia was fine by Sam. "She mentioned she'll spend Samhain with Chloe in New York. I could take the manuscript to her next week."

Dean chuckled. "This is beginning to smell like a setup. Chloe mentioned the festival to me too. Her Wicca coven is holding a bonfire ceremony in Riverside Park."

"Hey, I didn't invent the orange ectoplasm." Sam said, "but it'd be stupid not to take advantage of it." He turned to Bobby. "If this is a spirit coming out of Oblivion, isn't it our duty to investigate it?"

"Yeah," he rumbled. "He's not popping in to go trick-or-treating I warrant. If this is an eidolon, you'll find out soon enough . . . by the corpses. Stay sharp, boys."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After Mozzie's encounter, there were no additional reports of ghosts at Columbia. Neal was thankful Mozzie had his new buddy Quint to accompany him in his tunnel forays. Neal's calendar was already booked. That Saturday, he and fellow musketeers Richard and Aidan had a fencing competition in the morning. The premiere of El's play was in the evening, and the speakeasy party was scheduled for the next day.

He and Sara didn't attend El's play as a couple, but skilled matchmakers had something to speculate about. Janet had offered the use of a costume supply van to be a bus, with plenty of room not only for him, Sara, and Mozzie, but also for Aidan, Keiko, Angela, and Michael. Did El wonder if all the couples were giving him and Sara ideas? Not that she had time to see them arrive. She was far too busy preparing for her debut performance as Gillian the witch, but Peter likely told her about it afterward.

Of the four couples, only Aidan had popped the question. He and Keiko planned to be married next summer in Japan. Mozzie and Janet had settled into a comfortable groove but neither one showed any signs of wanting to establish a formal bond. Mozzie's views on marriage, as with so much else, were iconoclastic. A formal ceremony would register him into the system, and not even Neal knew what his real name was . . . assuming he had one. As for Neal's cousin Angela, her boyfriend Michael had a firm hand on the wheel of that love boat. He'd already plotted the navigation for the next port of call—the speakeasy party.

The party was open to all who'd worked on the case along with their significant others. Tricia Wiese, Peter's former second-in-command, had served as profiler and was a founding member of the Arkham Round Table writing group. Aidan had designed a program to combat Rolf's malware which was now implemented in most of the art museums throughout the world and had the Interpol stamp of approval. Richard's expertise with prosthetics had been vital in the final showdown with Rolf earlier in the month. Since at one time he'd been targeted for psychological manipulation, it was particularly satisfying that he had a hand in Rolf's capture.

On Sunday afternoon, Aidan, Travis, and Richard arrived early to help with the visual effects, which, just like the op against the Mansfelds, consisted of cons within cons.

"Is Michael coming early?" Aidan asked, unpacking a projector screen for June's music room.

Neal shook his head. "He was worried Angela might suspect something. I've informed the White Collar team to be prepared to have their photos taken. Last fall, Janet photographed everyone in their costumes before the sting at the gaming convention. Since this is being billed as a wrap-up party for the Mansfeld cons, it's natural we'd want permanent mementos."

When Aidan heard about the plan, he suggested flashing suitable backdrops on projection screens. Their task for the afternoon was to convert June's music room into a photography studio. One lucky couple would also be recorded on video.

"Angela usually prefers goth attire," Richard commented. "How'd Michael convince her to wear a Snow White costume?"

"He sold her on the idea of making a children's musical out of the story," Neal said. "She was skeptical at first, but he convinced her that the music could be updated for a modern audience." Angela was pursuing a PhD in ethnomusicology. She specialized in using folk instruments with young learners to jump-start their education.

"Michael's showing a new flair for the devious," Aidan remarked, connecting the projector to his laptop.

"You and Keiko aren't so bad yourselves," Travis said, uncoiling a length of cable. "What costumes are you wearing for the party?"

"We're dressing as Final Fantasy characters." Neal smiled at Aidan's choice. Keiko had been an avid gamer as a child, with Final Fantasy being her favorite. The abundance of swords in the game made it a winning choice for Aidan as well.

"I assume you're going as Spock," Aidan said. Travis had a _Star Trek_ uniform which he'd worn on several occasions.

"Not this time. We decided to pick aliens from Arkham Files."

"I designed a Meropian outfit," Richard said. "Since no one knows what they look like, I could let my imagination run wild."

Neal turned to Travis. "That means you're . . .?"

"You guessed it. A purple people eater." While the others teased Travis about having purple rather than green blood, Neal was glad to hear he was referencing the stories. He and Sara would also wear costumes from Arkham Files.

"Electra Stavrou made quite an impression on Keiko last night," Aidan said.

"It was a mutual admiration society," Richard commented. "She appeared genuinely interested in Keiko's experiments with art glass."

Electra had approached Neal at the after-party, and he'd taken the opportunity to introduce her to his friends. She made quite a hit with them, drawing Aidan, Richard, and Keiko out about their art projects. Keiko had decided to specialize in studio glass this year at Columbia. She'd taken a course in stained glass over the summer which inspired her to work exclusively in the medium. When Keiko heard that Electra had a collection of Pre-Raphaelite stained glass in her house, she asked if she could see it. Neal and his fellow fencers were scheduled to go to Yale for a fencing match the following weekend. Keiko had already planned to go along.

"What do you think about Electra's offer to have us over for dinner?" Aidan asked. "Should we take her up on it?"

Travis shrugged. "Why not? Perhaps someday Electra will want to include you in one of her soirées."

"New Haven has a number of B&Bs," Aidan said. "Chloe used to live in one when she was working on a job there. Keiko's already talked with her about it."

Neal smiled. "Planning a romantic getaway?"

"We probably won't be able to this weekend, but we hope to the next time we compete against Yale. Does it give you ideas for Alicia?"

"Yeah, why don't you invite her?" Richard asked, chiming in. "I'm beginning to wonder if she really exists. You say you're dating her. Isn't it time we met her?"

The thought of him and Sara spending Saturday night in New Haven had a definite appeal. Sara was friends with the group. Was it time for the Three Musketeers to be introduced to Constance? In a sense they were already involved since Mozzie, aka Athos, had discovered Neal and Sara's secret a couple of weeks ago. Richard and Aidan could be helpful in conning Henry. Aidan was finishing up a short feature which starred Henry. Richard and Travis lived close to Henry's loft and frequently met Henry and Eric in the Village at the rock club Riffs.

Having Sara along would serve another purpose. Neal had not been oblivious to the glances Electra tossed his way. During the summer, she'd made a play for him when she visited his art studio. Neal had thought she'd realized then that he wasn't interested in her romantically, but it didn't appear to take. If Sara were along for the weekend, Electra would quickly recognize Neal wasn't available.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter pulled into June's driveway, relieved that there was still room. For the speakeasy party, June had invited guests to park there, but it could only accommodate a few cars. "This may be the end of an era—the last of the speakeasy parties."

"You don't think Mozzie will continue the tradition?" El asked, knitting her brows together.

"Does he really intend to assume the writing mantle?"

"It's more a question of whether Diana will agree to hand over the reins. Mozzie claims he'll be able to duplicate Diana's style so seamlessly that no one will suspect someone else is writing them. June is happy to continue serving as beta editor. And speaking for the Arkham Round Table, we've grown very fond of our story-plotting sessions." El paused to smile mischievously. "I doubt New York Neal and Sara will let us stop. They're still sending us ideas."

He turned off the ignition. "Now that the threats are out of Neal's life, I hope he'll feel free to develop a lasting relationship with someone real. Perhaps Alicia will be the one."

"Has he mentioned anything about her to you?" El asked.

"No, but the longer he dates her, the more curious I become." El was worrying her lip. She needed to come to terms that not all matchmaking ended successfully. He leaned over to kiss her. "But I'm much more interested in our romance than Neal's. We have an anniversary coming up—our sixth."

A smile broke out on her face. "You're already planning something?"

"Was there any doubt?"

"Last year's celebration at Donatello's did seem rather like a spur-of-the-moment decision."

_More like a Hail Mary. He'd put it off till the last minute then couldn't think of anything._ "How about we alternate planning the big event? That makes this year your turn. Is there anything you'd like to do?"

"Actually Keiko gave me an idea. She—"

A tap on the window interrupted her. Peter turned his head to see Quark peering at him through the window. Janet the Dabo girl was standing next to him.

"Suit and Mrs. Suit, do you intend to join the party or should we bring the refreshments out to you?" Mozzie asked.

Peter reached behind the seat for his horned helmet. "Prepare for the Viking invasion!"

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal was at the front door to greet Henry and Eric. For the party, both men dressed as pirates in a nod to the pirate escapades in the U-boat con as well as their love for the sea. Henry was in a Jack Sparrow costume and Eric was a commanding Captain Hook.

"Who are you supposed to be?" Eric asked.

"James Bond. I celebrated Halloween in Arkham dressed in a tux at Sara's request."

"What did she wear?" Henry asked.

_As if he didn't know_. Henry still pretended that he didn't read the stories. "A catsuit. She was Emma Peel. Sara told me she's been scrounging the vintage clothing stores to find one for tonight."

An hour into the party, the countdown began. Janet and Mozzie took command of the photo shoot, calling guests in a predefined sequence to have their portraits made. The others gathered in the music room to watch. Neal had asked Mozzie to photograph him and Sara first. For their pose, he opted for a martini rather than a gun while Sara imitated Diana Rigg's trademark smile for the camera. When they stowed their props afterward, she breathed, "Same location?"

A flick of a nod was all he needed to assure her it was on. A few minutes later when a gypsy-costumed June approached him, Sara slipped out of the room.

"Is Michael ready?" June asked.

He nodded. "I slipped it to him five minutes ago."

"Angela doesn't suspect anything?"

He shook his head. ''She thinks the piano was moved to make room for the projection screens. Would you like me to help with the champagne?"

"Thank you, dear. Chef Emil will have his hands full with the cake."

Neal glanced around the room. Hughes and his wife Ilsa were being photographed in their Dumbledore and McGonagall outfits. Henry and Eric's turn was still to come. They were currently talking to Diana and Christie, with Henry's back to Neal. He wouldn't see him leave. And if Henry did notice both Neal and Sara were missing, he wouldn't be able to do anything. Mozzie had promised to take an extra-long time with their photograph.

Neal ducked into the corridor and headed for the kitchen where he found Emil moving the cake onto the trolley. "Reporting for duty," Neal said cheerfully. "We're running a little low on red wine. I'll bring up some bottles from the cellar then help you with the champagne."

Emil waved his thanks while dispatching an assistant to prepare the dining room.

Neal took the stairs down to the basement. The wine cellar was in a small room off the media room. He'd barely entered it when he was greeted by an embrace.

"Clandestine meetings in the wine cellar?" Sara purred. "Why, Mr. Bond, what must you think of me?" He took her face in his hands. That catsuit begged to be unzipped. If only they had a few more minutes.

Sara was running as hot as him as she pressed against his tux. He could easily feel her curves through the slick, tight fabric . . .

When she pulled away, her face was flushed. "Are you sure we don't need to give Henry a clue that we might be attracted to each other, after all?"

"I almost did earlier. Aidan and Richard were teasing me about needing a Constance in my life and I longed to tell them I already had one."

She moaned. "We could have dressed as d'Artagnan and Constance! I would have loved those costumes."

Sara wasn't alone. Neal had to drag his thoughts away from her in a provocative low-cut gown, tightly cinched at the waist. They'd probably already been downstairs too long. "You've got your script ready about Matthew?"

She sighed softly, a hint he wasn't the only one daydreaming? "Alicia can't wait to see him on Friday night." Alicia and Matthew were the names they'd chosen to represent themselves to mislead the matchmakers into thinking they were dating other people.

"Peter knows what to say?" she asked.

"He's ready for Henry. Have you decided how to stage it?"

"I'll stay close to Keiko and Aidan. When Henry's within earshot, I'll ask Keiko for the name of a Japanese restaurant near Columbia and mention Matthew will be in town on Friday night."

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. "Neal, are you there?" Emil called out. "It's time to prepare the champagne."

"Be right with you." Neal smoothed down her hair.

"I'll wait a couple of minutes," she promised.

Neal didn't bother collecting the unneeded red wine but raced back upstairs to help with the champagne, quickly passing a comb through his hair. There were still a few couples left to be photographed before Angela and Michael. No one appeared to have noticed his absence.

Out of the corner of his eye, Neal noticed Sara slip into the room. Later, he spotted Henry and Eric talking with Sara and Keiko. The well was being primed.

Angela and Michael were the last couple to be photographed. By now everyone knew about the surprise except Angela.

When it was time, Sara and Keiko helped arrange a laughing Angela on top of the game table in the music room. She wore a Snow White costume which appeared to be a duplicate of the one in the Walt Disney musical. Scenes from the movie were displayed on the projection screens behind her.

"You know you're supposed to be fast asleep," Sara remarked as she arranged her dress.

"I can't help it," Angela protested. "I have an attack of the giggles. Who wouldn't with those cartoon animals around me?"

"Think about writing your dissertation," Keiko advised. "That would put anyone to sleep."

"Silence!" Mozzie bellowed. "Neal, play something to put Angela in the mood."

Neal just happened to have prepared a medley of soft music from _Snow White_ for the occasion. June took a seat beside him on the piano bench.

Everyone's eyes were on Michael in his sky-blue Prince Charming costume. Riding up on a pretend horse, Michael dismounted and gazed admiringly at the only slightly snickering Snow White.

"Who is this beauty?" he mused aloud. "She is the fairest in all the lands." He leaned down to kiss her on the lips.

She opened her eyes and gazed at him rapturously. "My prince has come for me."

Michael reached inside his military jacket and pulled out a pink rosebud fashioned in colored brass. He placed it on the palm of her hand.

She looked up at him in surprise. "I don't remember this in the movie."

"This is _our_ love story," he said softly. "And I would have you be my princess forever."

Out of the corner of his eye, Neal watched Travis reach inside his pocket. As if by magic, the rose opened to reveal a diamond ring. Michael dropped down on one knee. "Will you make me the happiest prince of any kingdom by consenting to marry me?"

A squeal of joy was an adequate response as Michael scooped her in his arms and June began singing "Some Day My Prince Will Come."

As he accompanied June, Neal gazed around at the room suddenly filled with dewy-eyed romantics. He was right there with them. He also caught Henry shoot him a look. Neal didn't dare gaze at his secret princess but instead exchanged satisfied nods with his cousin. Henry had his arm around Eric's waist, Keiko was sniffling beside Aidan, and El was dabbing her eyes with Peter's handkerchief.

Best Halloween party ever.

* * *

_Notes: Thanks for reading! Columbia Ghost Story has 4 chapters. I plan to post weekly on Wednesday. _

_Neal and Sara are taking more risks now that the Mansfelds are no longer a threat. Could that be a subconscious desire to be discovered? They intend to lead Henry to the truth, but that may not be a simple matter. With the fluff of the speakeasy party over, we'll return to more ghostly happenings next week. _

_A few notes about the references to the earlier stories: The first time El and Henry conspired was in By the Book. The Halloween stargazing weekend Neal mentioned was in The Woman in Blue. That story was also my first one to feature costumes. In Arkham Files, Sara requested Neal dress as James Bond. That was not Diana's first choice, but El persuaded her to include it in the story. The costumes worn at the party all refer to outfits from previous adventures, with one notable exception—Angela and Michael. For trivia buffs, here's the list:_

_Peter & El: __ Vikings (The Crypt). Sara & Neal: Emma Peel & James Bond (The Crypt). Henry & Eric: Pirates Jack Sparrow & Captain Hook (Harlequin's Shadow). Travis & Richard: Purple People Eater & Meropian (Arkham Files). Aidan & Keiko: Final Fantasy characters (Nocturne in Black and Gold). Jones & Helen: 2 Klingons (The Mirror). Diana & Christie: Cleopatra & Hippolyta (The Woman in Blue). Mozzie & Janet: Quark & Dabo girl (The Mirror). Tricia & Mitch: Robin Hood & Maid Marion (Night Howls on the Hudson). June – gypsy (The Crypt)_. _Reese & Ilsa Hughes: Dumbledore & McGonagall (Echoes of a Violin)._

_I wrote about Neal's connections to James Bond in my blog post this week, "Shaken, Not Stirred." Penna's recent posts have been about the process of writing. In her latest post, she lets us peek into the cauldron she's been brewing for her novel, Prime Conditions. The post is called: "Putting it into practice." I'm thrilled to have Penna along in the Impala for Columbia Ghost Story as my beta sidekick. Thank you, Penna!_

**_Background on Crossed Lines for new readers_**_:_

_In the pre-series Caffrey Conversation AU created by Penna Nomen, FBI Special Agent Peter Burke recruited con artist and expert forger Neal Caffrey in 2003 when he was 24. In exchange for a confession, he was given immunity for past crimes and started working for the FBI as a consultant at the White Collar task force in New York City. Sam and Dean Winchester are demon-hunting brothers. Sam is roughly the same age as Neal. Dean is four years older than Sam. Peter is fifteen years older than Neal. For those familiar with the Supernatural timeline, the action is set early in the second season of Supernatural. The Crossed Lines page on our blog has more background information about the stories._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation__  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Columbia Ghost Story board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website. __  
_


	2. Slimebusters

**Chapter 2: Slimebusters**

**Federal Building. Monday, October 31, 2005.**

Michael's proposal continued to be a topic for office chatter the next day. Travis had brought in a spare rose for demonstrations. Neal spent the morning in his art niche which was conveniently located next to Travis's workstation in the lab so he could add supplemental anecdotes. Their current visitor was Diana.

"How long had Michael been planning it?" she asked as she pressed the remote control button controlling the rose petals.

"He approached me a month ago," Neal said. "His initial thought was to include the proposal at a Halloween event, but the speakeasy party provided an even better setting."

"Richard came up with the idea to use a rose," Travis explained. "He fabricated it out of copper, and I mechanized it with a device to spring the petals."

"Aidan plans to enhance the video with additional music and backdrops from the movie," Neal added. "Next weekend Angela and Michael are going to D.C. where they'll share it with Angela's mom and the grandparents."

Diana snorted, handing the flower back to Travis. "A bunch of romantics, that's what you are. Still, for those two, a fairy tale is appropriate." She glanced at Neal. "If the experience gave you ideas for Arkham Neal and Sara, send them to Mozzie."

"Do you really intend to stop writing the stories?" Travis asked.

She exhaled. "Not immediately. Tricia wants me to continue for a while longer. Mozzie and I may share responsibilities. He wrote much of the next story. It will be interesting to see if readers can tell the difference."

After Diana left, Neal settled in to read the daily collection of art crime bulletins. He'd been back at work for a week but his duties had been confined to helping others with their cases. He hadn't been cleared for undercover work yet, and there hadn't been any recent reports of stolen art. Mortgage fraud was the most likely candidate for his next assignment.

When Neal saw Peter walk into the lab carrying a small box, he composed himself to act properly enthusiastic about whatever snooze-case his boss was about to give him.

"There's been a murder on the Columbia University campus and NYPD has asked us to look into it," Peter said, taking a seat next to him.

Already Neal was intrigued. White Collar didn't normally get involved in homicides. Was the snooze-case still slumbering?

"After last month's leech-man murders in Upper Manhattan, we appear to be the designated go-to team for all weird crimes," Peter said with only a minor rumble to indicate his dissatisfaction. "This morning a corpse was found in a university building which is closed for renovation work. The body was discovered when the crew arrived at work."

"You're sure NYPD isn't pranking you?" Travis questioned from his workstation. "Today is Halloween."

"I'd considered it," Peter conceded, "but it's legit. The coroner believes the man was killed the previous evening. It was one of the workers from the project. The crew had left the building at five o'clock on Friday, but no one remembers seeing him leave. The man had about a three-day stubble, but his co-workers said he was normally clean-shaven, so he was likely a prisoner since that Friday."

"Any sign of the victim being tied up or tortured?" Neal asked.

"That's difficult to answer. Based on the contents of his stomach, the coroner believes he hadn't eaten anything for over two days. It's possible he was unconscious most of the time." Peter paused for a moment. "There are a couple of unusual elements. One of them is that the victim was branded with a skull and crossed bones pattern."

Travis's eyebrows arched. "Actually branded?"

Peter nodded. "It was burned onto his forehead. From the condition of the skin, the coroner believes it happened after the man was killed."

"Is that why you were called?" Neal asked.

"Nope, this was." He opened the box. "This is a sample of what coated the body." Peter took out a small glass jar containing an orange-colored substance. When he rotated the jar, the gelatinous material coated the glass.

Neal and Travis stared at it then at each other.

Peter groaned. "I know what you're thinking. That tangerine ectoplasm Mozzie claimed to have discovered? It appears the corpse was slimed with it."

Neal stared at him in disbelief. "Where exactly was the body found?"

"Buell Hall."

"That's close to where Mozzie spotted the ghost."

Peter let out a slow breath. "Didn't you mention that Mozzie called the Winchesters?"

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter supposed he should have expected it. It would be unreasonable to assume that the presence of what was rumored to be orange ectoplasm in the tech lab wouldn't provoke a reaction. Still, it was astonishing at how quickly the team could pull together during mission-critical situations.

Within an hour, large posters of both Ghostbuster movies had appeared in the breakroom. No one had confessed, but Peter was convinced Neal's gloved fingerprints were all over them. In addition, some wag draped fake cobwebs down the staircase to the bullpen, and the odd eerie howl echoed in the corridor by the bank of elevators.

Granted, it was Halloween. A little latitude was permissible. And the ghosts made out of computer printouts were really rather clever, but a slide pole from his office to the bullpen? No, that was out of the question.

"But Peter," Neal pleaded, "when we get the call, don't you want to be able to respond promptly? Why use the stairs when you could simply slide down?"

Peter had learned from similar situations when Neal unleashed his inner kid that the wisest strategy was to ignore him. Planting himself in the center of the bullpen and disregarding the juvenile delinquent beside him, Peter bellowed, "Tell me someone is actually working on the case!"

"You wound me," Neal protested. "I spoke with Dean an hour ago. He and Sam had already planned to come to town. Chloe's been urging them to attend the Samhain festival tonight."

"What's that?" Jones asked, walking up.

"It's the Celtic equivalent of All Hallows' Eve. Peony's coven is hosting a small bonfire in Riverside Park to celebrate."

"Electra mentioned it to Elizabeth on Saturday," Peter added. "She encouraged us to attend."

"Angela's dragging Michael there," Neal said. "She's arranged for a folk music group to perform. The event will only last an hour or so."

"Are you going to be there?" Peter asked.

"Not planning to, but I could meet with the Winchesters afterward. They have news about the orange goo."

"Is that their term?"

Neal frowned. "I was trying to protect your delicate sensibilities, but have it your way. They called it ectoplasm. Mozzie had taken EMF readings which confirm its nature."

"And I found out the origin of the brand on the corpse," Jones said. "I thought it looked familiar. It's the mark of a senior secret society at Yale University called Skull and Bones."

"I've heard of that," Peter said. "Isn't President Bush a member?"

Jones nodded. "As well as his father, some Supreme Court justices, and assorted other famous figures."

"I'll be at Yale next weekend," Neal said. "I should have Mozzie come along. Yale has an elaborate network of tunnels. I wonder if they also have tangerine slime."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

El hurriedly pulled up the lingerie straps when she heard a knock on the dressing room door.

"I found that chemise you liked in your size," the sales assistant called out.

"Please bring it in." For the past hour she'd been indulging herself by trying on the most sensual negligees she could find at Reverie, a lingerie boutique on the Upper East Side. Their anniversary would be on Saturday, and El intended it to be a night for Peter to dream about for years to come. She'd already arranged for her understudy to take her place for the Saturday performance of the play. They had their reservations at a Connecticut inn where Peter had stayed with Neal last May. El hadn't been able to go on that trip, but this would make up for it. Now her only decision was whether to go with the violet silk or rose chiffon.

"You look stunning!" the assistant exclaimed. "Midnight blue is your color."

Oh dear, another decision. Could she get all three? Her business had been quite successful this year, and they would be a gift that would keep on giving . . .

When El's cell phone rang, the assistant left the cubicle. She smiled at the name on the display. "Hi, Henry."

"Do you have time for a matchmaker consult?"

"Of course." This was one time she was extremely thankful video phones weren't available.

"Did Sara mention anything to you about Matthew during the party?"

"I heard her tell June he was coming to town."

"I overheard her talking with Keiko about it. He'll be in town Friday night. We'd discussed the possibility that Sara had invented a boyfriend—"

"—because Neal wasn't available. I remember."

"This will give me a chance to confirm it."

"You're not planning to spy on her?"

"Not exactly." Dead silence for a moment. "Discreet surveillance is a more apt description. I want to test a theory."

El exhaled, not happy at his scheme. "What theory?"

"That Neal is Matthew."

"Impossible. Sara's been talking about Matthew since July."

"That's when she could have created him," Henry persisted. "Then Neal decided to make him real. It's just a theory."

"I know it's an incorrect one. Peter mentioned that he and Neal are going to the planetarium on Friday evening."

He let out a noisy breath. "I heard about that. The thought occurred to me that Neal had fabricated the excuse, but with Peter talking about it as well . . . Is it possible Neal roped him into the subterfuge?"

El frowned at the cell phone. "Henry, you're not getting carried away, are you?"

"Never."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Mozzie set the petri dish in front of Quint. "See for yourself."

He didn't fault the lad for being skeptical when he first heard about the EMF readings. The careful scientist should never leap to conclusions. There were far too many charlatans who took advantage of the search for extraterrestrial life for their own selfish reasons.

So when Quint offered to meet Mozzie at the SETI lab in Pupin Hall, Mozzie leaped at the opportunity to educate him. On a Monday afternoon, they had the workshop with its sophisticated equipment to themselves. Originally there had been no microscopes, but Mozzie had quickly corrected that deplorable deficiency. How could one possibly conduct slime research without the proper tools? He'd been able to scrounge a beauty of a digital model from the chemistry department.

Quint had been a find—a true kindred spirit, and it didn't hurt that even with his thatch of red hair he was shorter than Mozzie. A senior in the computer science department, he put his expertise to good use in the quest for extraterrestrial intelligence.

"I'll have to take your word for the spike in the electric field," Quint said. "There's too much equipment in here to test it. Do you really believe you saw a ghost?"

"There's no other rational explanation for the encounter. I've been advised to postpone further exploration until my team is here."

"Which team is that?"

"Experts in the paranormal." Mozzie decided against disclosing the Winchesters' names. It wasn't that he didn't trust Quint, but his policy of revealing only the essential crumbs from his vast storehouse of knowledge had stood him in good stead over the years.

When Mozzie left to meet the Winchesters, Quint was still at work, documenting the fractal characteristics of the latest sample.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

No sooner had Mozzie exited the room than Scarbo popped out from behind a file cabinet. Quint had taken to meeting with him during the daytime since Astrena generally only requested the demon's services at night. By day, she could care less what her longtime minion did.

Quint had easily won Scarbo over to his side by supplying him with addictive mushrooms from Oblivion. His little pal had been acting as his spy for several months. He'd proved to be a useful tool in Quint's strategy to exact revenge on his sister. She might be able to hide her identity from mortals under the alias of Electra but not from him.

Scarbo snatched off his cap and contorted his face into an ingratiating smile. "How may I serve my lord Thanatos?" He licked his lips hungrily. "I've made a study of that man's habits when Astrena was connected to Neal. Tormenting Mozzie would be a rare pleasure."

Quint held up a hand. "Not yet. He's performing a useful role. I want the link to Oblivion to be discovered."

The demon's yellow eyes became mere slits. "I don't understand."

"The eidolon was chosen to send Astrena a message. Mozzie will eventually draw in the Winchesters. Maia will hear of their interest and she will report the news to Astrena. Remember, our target is my sister, not Mozzie."

Astrena might no longer remember, but Quint would never forgive her for feeding off his lover, the poet Stasinus. She deliberately gorged herself on him, killing him when he was only twenty-three. Quint was convinced she destroyed the man he loved purely out of spite. So now he would do the same with her. He'd immersed himself in his role of undergrad so thoroughly, he now thought of himself as Quint, only reverting to Thanatos when he returned to Oblivion.

Bit by bit, Quint would destroy Astrena's hold on everything she valued. The first step was a warning shot. Astrena had discovered a way to feed off supplicants to her foundation and recently had focused on Columbia University projects. Soon Quint would irrevocably spoil her playground. The eidolon he'd picked for the task was the ideal choice. Ireton was insane. His hunger to return to Buell Hall combined with rampant paranoia made him a senseless killing machine.

"Did you give Astrena the love potion?" Quint asked.

"Yes, my lord. I slipped it into her blood on Friday night. The next evening she saw Neal at the theater after-party. It was my first opportunity to assess its effectiveness, and I'm pleased to report she's begun to experience its effects."

"Excellent." Astrena had lusted after the artist earlier. When the link was severed, her rage had been illuminating. Now that she'd drunk the potion, her hunger for him would be unquenchable.

"And she stayed in town for Samhain?"

"Yes, my lord. The Wicca coven expects about a hundred revelers to participate. It's been heavily advertised on campus."

He'd seen the posters. Astrena must be reveling at the prospect. He wished he knew how she derived strength from the Wicca sabbats. It had to be connected to the stars, but tonight her efforts would be thwarted. Their father had divided up the realms with Astrena meant to live among the stars and him Oblivion. The world of humans belonged to neither, and Astrena would soon find her efforts to expand her realm come crashing down upon her.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a mushroom for Scarbo. "You've done well," he said as Scarbo devoured the mushroom greedily.

All was proceeding smoothly. The only puzzle on the horizon was what had caused Astrena's links to Sam, Neal, and Maia to be severed. Was the witch Chloe actually that powerful? She'd bear watching.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Have at it, kids," Dean said, handing the Coptic manuscript to Maia.

She and Chloe were waiting for them in the front parlor of Peony's B&B on the Upper West Side when they arrived. While the two geeks in the group worked on the manuscript, he and Chloe could spend quality time catching up.

Peony's inn was all pink and frou-frou flowers. It was about as unlikely a hangout for two denim-clad hunters as there could be. Which just went to prove, appearances could be misleading.

Dean had learned to appreciate Peony's psychic abilities and her gift to communicate with spirits. For her part, Peony respected the work he and Sam did. She let them appropriate the small sitting room she used for her séances whenever they needed a place to meet.

Maia was only staying overnight as she had classes to return to. She'd originally planned to take the late train back to Yale that evening after the Samhain observation. With Sam here, morning suddenly became soon enough.

Leaving the two geeks to the ancient manuscript, Dean took off to raid Peony's well-stocked kitchen with Chloe.

"Have you heard anything more about Astrena?" Chloe asked, pulling out a couple of beers from the fridge.

Dean swung a leg over the kitchen stool and plunked down next to her. "Nothing worth mentioning. We've been keeping an eye out for the demon Crowley. We figure he's our best chance of getting a handle on her, but since last month he's dropped out of sight." Crowley was a known associate of the witch Alcy. He was up to his eyeballs in an ID fraud operation being run by a pure-blood vampire in Shepherdstown. Dean's theory was simple. _Find Crowley and you'll find Astrena_.

For the moment, the goddess wasn't causing any issues that he was aware of. Chloe and Maia had broken the links connecting Neal and Sam to her. Vampire reports had also fallen off the radar. Not anything he'd complain about.

"Do you still think Alcy is another name for Astrena?" Chloe asked.

"She's the best possibility we have. We know she's a powerful witch. She caused the death of that artist in Connecticut. If she's not Astrena, she's probably one of her sisters. And since Crowley was in New York last month, there's likely a connection between New York and Astrena, as well."

Sam walked into the kitchen. "You better come in. Maia's able to read the manuscript. That eidolon Mozzie spotted may be a bigger problem than we realized."

Why was it no one ever suggested a problem was smaller than they realized?

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Sam told me you already know what Oblivion is," Maia said. "This manuscript is an account of the Greek beliefs about the realm. It was written by a Coptic monk named Gelasius who lived in Alexandria during the reign of Hadrian. That dates it to roughly 100 AD. The monk explains that the ancient Greeks believed Oblivion was ruled by Thanatos."

"I thought Hades ruled the underworld," Chloe said, making a mental note to bone up on Greek mythology.

Maia nodded. "He does, but the Greeks divided the underworld into two realms. The domain ruled by Hades is the one we're familiar with."

"It's the one with the River Styx, the ferryman Charon, and the hellhound Cerberus, right?" Sam asked.

Maia nodded. "That realm is for us mere mortals. Oblivion isn't mentioned very often. I'd heard of the concept, but this is the most detailed description I've read."

"If Oblivion is reserved for vampires, witches, and ghosts gone bad," Dean said, "it makes sense you wouldn't know much about it. Like hunters, they're not the type to have temples erected to them. Any details about Thanatos?"

She tapped the manuscript. "According to this monk, he's Astrena's brother."

Dean grimaced. "Astrena's not bad enough? We have to deal with her brother, too?"

"I'm afraid so. Thanatos and Astrena are both the offspring of Erebus, the god of darkness."

"With Astrena having a lock on living vampires and witches, and Thanatos ruling over the dead ones, their power must be exponentially that much stronger," Sam said, worry lines popping up on his forehead.

"Except that they hate each other, or at least that's what the monk claims," Maia said. "Supposedly the eruption of Mount Vesuvius was caused by Thanatos. He was trying to get even with Astrena after she killed his lover. It got so bad that Erebus banished them to their separate domains—Thanatos to Oblivion and Astrena to the stars."

"Well, it didn't take," Dean said bluntly. "We know Astrena's working her devilry on Earth."

"And now Thanatos may be as well," Chloe added. "Is there anything specific about the eidolons?"

"Thanatos has the ability to create a fissure which allows eidolons to escape," Maia said unhappily. "The sign of the fissure is that tangerine slime Mozzie found."

"Anything about how we can kill them?" Dean asked.

"Eidolons are tied to . . ." She hesitated and checked the manuscript. "Soul-object is the direct translation. It's a personal item the spirit possessed when they were alive. The eidolon can't survive for long in the upper world unless it can revisit its soul-object. The monk claims if you pierce the object with a solid silver knife, the eidolon can no longer inhabit it and is forced to return to Oblivion."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "That fits the pattern. A silver blade is often used to gank monsters. We carry several in our arsenal."

"Finding the right object will be the challenge," Sam said. "Did the monk say whether there was any way to identify it? For instance, does it give off an aura?"

"If there is a way, he didn't mention it."

"Do you really believe the ghost Mozzie saw was an eidolon?" Chloe asked.

"It has the correct signature," Sam said. "This morning a corpse was found covered in orange slime on the Columbia University campus. That's pretty conclusive."

"Neal said the hall where the body was found used to be part of an insane asylum," Dean said. "Having it slimed so close to Halloween makes the police suspect it started off as a prank and wasn't meant to be deadly."

"Mozzie's going to take us to the tunnel location tomorrow," Sam added. "I assume we'll see him at the Samhain event tonight?"

Chloe nodded. Neal's friend was now a member of Peony's coven. "We better put away the manuscript. I promised Peony we'd help take over the equipment to the park for the ceremony."

As they stood up, a loud clap of thunder was heard.

Maia gazed around startled. "Where'd that come from? We had blue skies only a few minutes ago."

"There was zero chance of rain in the forecast," Chloe moaned. "Peony's been working for weeks on the ceremony, getting approval for the bonfire, arranging for music."

Another thunderclap crackled, this one even louder.

Dean raised a brow. "I hope her arrangements included a backup plan."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal sidestepped a large puddle on the sidewalk leading to Buell Hall. "Did you get caught in last night's storm?" he asked Peter.

"I'd just made it home when the skies opened up. We didn't have a single trick-or-treater at our house. When was the last time we had a summer gully washer in late October?"

"Could there be demonic forces at work? That's Angela's theory. She called me last night, much chagrined about the cancelation of the Samhain celebration."

Peter stopped Neal with a hand to his arm. "She doesn't really think that, does she?"

Neal chuckled. "No worries. Angela still doesn't know about real vampires and witches, and the police have done a good job in quashing the spookier aspects of this case."

When Peter got a call that there'd been another possible sighting of Mozzie's ghost, he'd agreed to a field trip to the scene of the haunting. Neal had restrained himself—with great difficulty—from pointing out this would have been an ideal opportunity to use a pole slide. And it was truly unfortunate Peter categorically refused to accept a large Ghostbusters decal on one of the doors of his Taurus.

This time there was no murder to investigate, but it had been a close call. A police detective had spotted the ghost in the same location.

Buell Hall was the oldest building on campus. The three-story gabled brick house was the only structure remaining from the years when the Bloomingdale Insane Asylum occupied what would later become the Columbia University campus. The building had been closed for the past two weeks for an extensive renovation project.

"Jones researched the contractor but was unable to find anything indicating a possible motive," Peter said. "The murder victim had been a member of the carpenters' union for ten years. There's nothing in his record to indicate he had any enemies. The renovation is being funded by Electra's foundation."

"I suppose it's conceivable that someone has a grudge against the organization but that seems quite a stretch. And killing a construction worker is an asinine way of getting revenge."

Peter nodded agreement. "Jones is checking into the foundation's activities, but I don't expect he'll find anything. I'd reviewed them when El's community theater group applied for a grant. The Lena Stavrou Foundation has a five-star rating as a philanthropic organization. A personal grudge of some sort is much more likely."

When they arrived at Buell Hall, yellow tape blocked the entrance. The police detective who'd seen the ghost, Paula Hernandez, cut a powerful figure in a compact package. It was difficult to believe she'd been intimidated by anything without just cause.

Peter interviewed her and her partner in a large empty room off the foyer. Carpenter's tools lay scattered about, but all construction work had been halted.

"We arrived early in the morning to verify that the building was sealed off," Paula said. "I was walking toward the kitchen when I spotted him. He wore a black frock coat. Looked like something out of Dickens with bushy mutton chops."

"Did he resemble this person?" Peter nodded at Neal to show her his drawing.

Her eyes widened. "That's him! Someone else saw him?"

"Apparently so," Peter said, making only a low rumble to register his dissatisfaction. "What did the ghost do?"

"When I first saw him, his back was to me. He spun around, stared at me, then disappeared into the wall." She showed them the corridor where she'd seen the apparition. There was no evidence of orange goo, and Paula made a very credible witness. The ghost hadn't tried to attack her, but what was it doing there in the first place?

Neal had been prepared to make a sketch based on Paula's description, but there was no need. She had nothing to add to Mozzie's photographic memory.

Dean and Sam joined them at the site later that morning. They'd brought along their EMF meters which registered high enough for even the unflappable Dean to look concerned.

Then Sam launched into an account of eidolons and Oblivion. He wanted them to believe there was a vast underworld residing beneath their feet which was apparently leaking through a fissure into the tunnels. What would Mozzie make of that? More to the point, how were they supposed to capture a murder suspect who wasn't human?

"You need to treat this like any other case," Dean advised. "Identify the suspect. Eidolons are supposedly tied to some personal item. For us to be able to gank it, we need to know as much as possible about its former life."

Neal arched a mocking brow. "Talk with his friends and family?"

Sam took his remark seriously. "If possible. That eidolon didn't choose to haunt Columbia in order to advance his education. These are _vengeful_ spirits, remember. He's angry, and he wants revenge. Our challenge is to find out why. Because I can guarantee the murders won't stop with one person."

"Any ideas why the ghost didn't attack the police detective?" Peter asked.

Dean shrugged. "He's only mad at men? The cop reminded him of someone he knew? It's possible the ghost is tied to this building since there's been a second sighting. You should continue to limit access."

Peter nodded agreement. "The ghost was wearing a frock coat such as was worn in the nineteenth century. That could date him to the time when this property was part of the insane asylum."

"He could have been a patient or one of the doctors," Neal suggested.

"And we have one other clue," Peter added. "The skull and bones brand. He could be linked in some way to Yale."

"Crunching through data is more your department than ours," Dean said.

"What will you do?" Peter asked.

"We have tunnels to explore," Sam said. "Mozzie's meeting us. It's possible there's more than one rift."

Multiple openings to Oblivion? Neal was glad they didn't ask for his assistance. Mozzie, on the other hand, hadn't been scared off from the tunnels by his encounter. He'd spent most of Monday underground but so far hadn't found any more of the orange goo.

"Before you leave, you should have these." Peter reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two leather badge wallets. He opened them to glance at the ID inside before turning them over. "Dean, Sam, you are now official FBI consultants for the duration of this case."

Dean and Sam broke into identical grins as they checked them out. "Jeez, we're official G-men now," Dean said. "I guess Agents Elliott and Edgar won't be needed this time."

"Or anything else illegal," Peter warned. He hesitated for a moment, "I'm giving the tunnels a pass. Keep track of your expenses. If you can manage the paperwork, I should be able to get them reimbursed."

Peter hadn't told Neal about his surprise. The IDs were similar to Neal's but had an expiration date. Peter was assuming the case would be solved within two weeks. Optimist.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Maia peered cautiously into the living room.

"Electra's upstairs changing." At the sound of Crowley's voice coming from behind her, she flinched. "I assume that's who you're looking for."

Maia nodded in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner, not like the scared rabbit she was inside.

She'd waited till the evening to arrive at the house in the woods. Electra had returned to New Haven in the morning, but she would have spent the day at the bookstore. When Maia severed the link connecting Electra to herself, Sam, and Neal, she'd fingered Thanatos as the most likely culprit. Electra's brother was the only other one she knew of who might be capable of such an action. Not for a second had she dreamed that he actually had intruded into the realm of mortals. Mozzie's report left little doubt that was exactly what happened.

She hoped that by sharing the information with Electra, the goddess would realize how helpful the Winchesters could be. Then Maia would have an easier time persuading her to leave them alone. Since Maia had become mortal, she'd been trying to remain in Electra's good graces so she'd have a heads up if Electra decided to threaten any of those near to her. Crowley was currently Maia's ally, but that was purely because he felt their interests aligned. The situation could change in a heartbeat.

She scanned Crowley's face anxiously. "Is she angry?"

"About the Samhain rite being canceled?" He shrugged. "It's one more thorn in her side." He grimaced. "She seemed to be more upset about not seeing Cheekbones than losing the prayers of the Wiccans."

Maia stared at him, shocked. "I thought she was no longer interested in him."

"I did too," he said gloomily. "But lately her obsession has gotten worse than ever. You should have gone to the after-theater party of _Bell, Book, and Candle._ Then you'd know what I was talking about. According to the report I received, she was fawning over him and his Columbia friends the entire time. It was unseemly." He made a face. "Revolting, unbecoming. Am I making myself clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good, because—" He broke off when footsteps were heard on the staircase in the foyer. An instant later, Electra entered the room. She was clad in a long sheath dress of teal silk which emphasized her height and made her look even more deadly.

"I thought you'd stay in New York to be with your precious Sam," Electra said. "What brings you here?"

"Your fear that Thanatos has invaded the upper world appears to be correct. There are signs of an eidolon on the Columbia University campus." Electra could have been sculpted out of marble when Maia presented the evidence. Only the flashes of lightning in her eyes revealed the depth of her anger.

"The Winchesters found an ancient manuscript written by a Coptic monk during the reign of Hadrian," Maia added. "He related the history of you and Thanatos. I was called upon to translate the manuscript." As Electra's face darkened, she rushed to add, "I did it to protect you. Now the Winchesters know how to kill eidolons. They will be your knights, taking on Thanatos for you."

Maia waited nervously for Electra's decision. Had she convinced her? Crowley was hard to read, his calculating eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them. If Electra believed the Winchesters and Chloe were fighting Thanatos, they'd be safe, at least for the moment.

Slowly the hard lines on Electra's face softened. "You did well. Thanatos must have picked that building because he knows of its connection to the foundation."

Just as Maia began to relax, her mood changed to fury. "How is Thanatos acquiring his information? Is Scarbo his spy?" Electra whirled to Crowley. "You convinced me not to kill him because it would have alerted my wretched excuse for a brother that we were aware of his tricks. You said you could manage him."

Faced by her anger, Crowley retreated a step backward. "By the time I was done with Scarbo, he was groveling at my feet. You told me how difficult it would be to replace him. It was because of you I kept him alive."

Maia seized the opportunity to win points with Crowley. "Could Thanatos have brought in his own demon to pry on your affairs?"

She grunted assent. "Thanatos is not without abilities. It would be just like him to imitate my achievements by creating a demon of his own." She smiled grimly. "But I've become much more powerful since we last met. He'll rue the day he provoked me. Finding him will be the hard part."

"He must be near the university," Maia said, "unless he discovered a way to exist further away from the rift than we believed."

"I don't think that's possible," Electra said. "He's likely confined to an area less than three miles. But recognizing him will be difficult. He can transform himself into any appearance."

Crowley exchanged glances with Maia. "You may wish to switch your focus away from Columbia, Radiant One. Yale's in your backyard. If Thanatos is so geographically restricted, that's an easy solution."

_And it will keep him away from Neal._ Crowley was as anxious as Maia for Electra to drop her obsession.

"Modify _my_ behavior because of that pest? Never!"

Was Neal the real reason she didn't want to stay away? In that case, Maia could provide her with yet another reason to value Sam and Dean. "The Winchesters are skilled hunters. Now they can be the means of finding Thanatos. They're working with the FBI and will be able to draw on their resources—"

"— without realizing they're working for me?" Electra considered for a moment then strode over to the sideboard. She poured herself a glass of blood from the cut-glass decanter, her lips curling into a smile. "I'll drink to that."

Crowley was eyeing her speculatively. How much had he guessed? Maia was walking on a tightrope with no end in sight. If Electra didn't suspect her, she would soon.

Her one saving grace was that Electra believed she yearned to be a handmaiden once more. It was fortunate the ritual could only happen during the vernal equinox. Maia had months to discover a potion which would prevent the ascension from occurring.

* * *

_Notes: When Mozzie discovered the ghost in the tunnels, Neal treated it as joke. Even though a murder has been committed, having a ghost for a suspect makes it hard for him to treat the case as seriously as he would otherwise. I wrote about Neal's inner child for the blog this week._

_Next week the plot thickens when Mozzie gives free rein to conspiracy theories. Also in Chapter 3: Secrets from the Tomb, Neal and his friends pay a visit to Electra in New Haven. That can't be good._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation__  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Columbia Ghost Story board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	3. Secrets from the Tomb

**Chapter 3: Secrets from the Tomb**

**Federal Building. November 3, 2005.**

It didn't take long for the ghost to strike again. At the Thursday morning briefing, Peter provided the details of yet another murder. Neal had already heard about it. Dean and Sam had gone to the building to search for possible soul-objects and had found a man dead in the main hallway. The latest tragedy branded the ghost a serial killer.

"His body had been slimed like the first victim," Peter told the team assembled in the conference room. "He'd also been branded with the Skull and Bones symbol."

"The victim was a junior," Neal added. "Victor was a political science student. The police interviewed his girlfriend who said he'd heard rumors about Buell Hall being haunted. He thought it'd be a cool hack to break in."

"And the killings will continue till this soul-object, whatever it is, is found?" Diana asked.

Peter nodded. "That's what the Winchesters predict. Have you had any luck in identifying the ghost?"

Jones exhaled, his face conveying the answer. "The records of the asylum still exist. They're currently housed in the Weill Cornell Medical Library. I spent the day there yesterday and was able to extract a list of names of patients who lived at Buell. So far, though, I've only been able to find photos for a couple of them. Neither one of them looks anything like Neal's sketch."

"We may be able to trace him through the brand he's using," Diana suggested. "It doesn't seem likely that the ghost wants to exact vengeance on the Skull and Bones society. Neither one of the victims is a member. Perhaps the ghost identifies with the group. He may have been a member or longed to be one."

"Mozzie agrees with you," Neal said, "but he's taken it a step further."

Travis arched his eyebrows. "Do we want to know how much further?"

Neal made a face. "Probably not, but in the interest of exploring all possibilities, you should hear it. Mozzie hypothesizes that the ghost was indeed a member of the Yale society. He was wrongfully admitted into the asylum. His ghost now cries out for revenge."

Peter rolled his eyes. "And this is the guy who's taking over Arkham Files?"

"You haven't heard the best part," Neal warned.

Diana snapped her fingers. "I know where he's heading! The reason for his incarceration."

"Exactly. Mozzie believes the ghost was a member of the Culper Ring. His enemies sought to discredit him by pronouncing him mentally incompetent."

"That was a spy ring under George Washington," Jones said. "Mozzie thinks the ghost dates back to the American Revolution?"

"Not exactly," Neal hedged. Why was he the one who always had to explain Mozzie's theories? "Mozzie said many believe the Culper Ring never disbanded. Instead it continued on as a secret society which is still active today. Mozzie's convinced that Ring members established Skull and Bones at Yale."

Peter exhaled slowly. Neal was sure he was counting to ten. He did that a lot when Mozzie was involved. "Does he offer any proof?"

Neal shrugged. "Circumstantial evidence may be a better term. Mozzie pointed out that known members of the Ring were associated with Yale. In addition, the number 322 which appears on the Skull and Bones insignia is a three-number code like the ones used by the spies."

"It's a provocative idea," Travis said, unexpectedly supportive. But then Travis probably also believed the planet Vulcan actually existed. "I've read about the group. Spies used the numbers as their code names."

"Before you get too carried away, remember that the self-proclaimed secret society expert you're giving credence to also believes the moon landing was a sham," Peter the skeptic cautioned.

Diana ignored his warning. "There's another possibility. If the ghost was a spy, perhaps he was in the asylum as part of his cover or to defend someone else there."

Neal smiled. The speculation was beginning to resemble the plot-spinning of the Arkham Round Table. "I'll be sure to pass your theory on to Mozzie. Prepare yourself for the two o'clock in the morning phone calls which will inevitably ensue." Not giving her a chance to protest, he added, "I'll be at Yale on Saturday. We have a fencing competition scheduled there. I could check to see if there are any photos of society members from the nineteenth century."

"I could call Thomas Gardiner," Peter volunteered. "He teaches law at Yale. Secret societies won't cough up records easily, but he may be able to grease some wheels."

"Is he connected to the Bureau?" Diana asked.

Jones nodded. "He helped us with a case before you transferred here. It was right after Neal joined the team."

"Travis, something bothering you?" Peter asked. Their tech expert had that perplexed look on his face which usually meant one of his gadgets was malfunctioning.

He nodded slowly. "We've been focusing on the ghost—the eidolon—and what it means, but we shouldn't ignore what may be the deeper significance. The eidolon is a symptom of a bigger problem. Astrena, the goddess who attacked Neal and Sam is still out there. Last month Diana and Jones had a run in with Crowley near Columbia. We assume he's working for Astrena since he was in the pure-blood vampire's mansion in West Virginia. Does that mean Astrena is somewhere in the vicinity, too? Possibly at Columbia? Now we're talking about her brother Thanatos who apparently has opened a fissure from the underworld to the Columbia campus. Why is Columbia the epicenter for so much paranormal activity?"

Peter swiped his hand over his mouth. "Excellent question."

"There could be a geological significance," Jones suggested, "or even astronomical. You two are the astronomy geeks. Astrena's actions during the summer equinox coincided with some pretty weird astronomical sightings."

"Nothing unusual has been reported recently," Travis said, "but I'll look into it."

"And as for you," Peter said, looking at Neal pointedly. "You've already been her victim once. Don't get complacent that it can't happen again."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"George Washington? Really?" El waved at Peter when he entered the living room. "Mozzie, he just came home. I'll let him know. I'm sure he'll be as excited as you are." She turned off her cell phone.

Peter stooped to pat Satchmo who was beating a frantic welcome with his tail. "Is _excited_ the correct word?"

"Perhaps not your top choice." Standing up, she walked over to give him a kiss. "Mozzie's news will easily wait till happy hour."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with the Culper Ring?" he asked, looking at her warily. "Neal already told me Mozzie's convinced there's a connection between the group and Skull and Bones."

"You must have known our favorite conspiracy theorist wouldn't be able to leave it alone."

A few minutes later, once Peter had stripped off his jacket and tie and was lounging on the couch with a beer and El had a glass of Chardonnay, she brought him up to date on Mozzie's latest speculation.

"Mozzie's uncovered evidence linking Skull and Bones to the Illuminati."

The deep rumbling sounds Peter made in his throat were echoed in Satchmo's whine.

El held up a warning hand. "You should hear his evidence before judging. George Washington warned of the influence of the Illuminati."

"Did Mozzie tell you the FBI is suspected of harboring Illuminati members?"

"No, but does it?"

"Not you, too," he moaned.

She tapped his nose. "You're safe. So far I haven't signed up to be Mozzie's secret partner in uncovering the web of dark conspiracies lurking in the Bureau."

"I suppose this day was inevitable. Conspiracy theories abound about the Illuminati surviving as a secret political powerhouse, influencing governments without their knowledge. When I read up on the Culper Ring, I discovered references to them. But there's no link between the Ring and the Illuminati."

"Mozzie believes he's discovered it. He has a list of the founders of Skull and Bones, and some of their ancestors were members of the spy network. They had relatives who were Bavarian Illuminati."

"He's probably already contacted Neal. He can pursue Mozzie's phantom Illuminati if he likes. Neal's fencing team will be at Yale on Saturday. Thomas Gardiner offered to help him research the ghost. He'll speak with the library so Neal can access their archives."

There was a hint of wistfulness in Peter's expression. Underneath the skepticism, the sleuth in him must be itching to tackle a mystery involving secret spy rings. "I bet you wish you could be there too," she said.

"Not at all," he said hurriedly. "This is our anniversary. We've already reserved the honeymoon suite at the Simsbury 1820 House. We have our reservations for dinner and—"

"—and Simsbury is only an hour away from New Haven." She chuckled at Peter's surprised reaction. "I'd say this makes the perfect start to our anniversary weekend. Neal will appreciate having assistance in scanning old photos. Besides I rarely have the chance to see him fence. He can ride with us to Yale."

"You're sure you don't mind?" Peter was grinning like a college kid. How could she possibly object? Letting her participate in the case with him was the best anniversary gift he could give her. Well, second best.

"We can leave early in the morning," he said. "Neal's team fences in the afternoon. There should be plenty of time. Keiko and Travis are also attending. We can sit with them during the competition."

"Do they have any plans afterward?" she asked.

"Electra has invited them to her house for dinner. She and Keiko discussed stained glass during the after-theater party. Apparently Electra has a notable collection of Pre-Raphaelite glass as well as other artworks. They'll have a private showing."

The thought made El uneasy but she quickly concealed her reaction. Neal was aware of Electra's interest in him, and apparently it hadn't diminished with time, judging by the way she eyed him at the party. But Neal was no stranger to women making a play for him. Electra was a patron of artists, and could be a valuable contact for all of them. She'd hardly make a move on him when he was surrounded by a group of friends.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"I wish you could have seen the look on Henry's face," Neal said, kissing Sara's neck as he dried her back.

Her bathroom was tinier than the one in the loft with a shower cubicle barely large enough for two people. Not that he uttered a word of complaint. Taking a shower together gave a new definition to eroticism.

Henry had been eating at the sushi bar when they walked into the restaurant. Neal had deliberately chosen a Japanese restaurant, knowing it was not Henry's favorite cuisine. How much sushi had he forced himself to eat while waiting for them to show up? Sara had mentioned to Keiko the approximate time she and Matthew planned to be there under the guise of finding out if reservations were necessary. They didn't want to be too cruel to their overly secretive snoop.

Sara spun around to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her skin was ivory satin in the glow of the candles. "You weren't surprised he didn't approach us?"

"I assumed he wouldn't. Henry doesn't normally come to Morningside Heights except when he's visiting me or Angela. He could have excused his presence by saying he was visiting a client, but he was more interested in observing me." Neal had worn his shaggy blond wig to the restaurant and coupled it with European-cut pants and a cashmere pullover. For his role as Matthew, he envisioned himself as the wealthy son of an earl. Neal's ex, Fiona, was engaged to the son of a duke. Gerald and Matthew were undoubtedly pals. They'd both gone to Eton and were members of the same college at Oxford.

Would Henry fit the puzzle pieces together to deduce their secret? He'd seen Alicia at Riffs when Sara wore blond curls and Neal hadn't worn a disguise. The wigs were somewhat similar, but they probably weren't blatant enough to clue him in that they were wearing disguises. Their next hint was designed to reveal how they'd chosen their names. They hoped that would be enough for Henry to guess their secret. The expiration date on this con should be fast approaching.

"I wish you could come with me to New Haven," Neal said, stroking her damp hair off her forehead.

"I do, too, but with Peter and El going, I'd hardly get to see you. In any case, I couldn't stay overnight. I need to leave for Atlanta on Sunday."

"Aidan and Keiko also decided not to stay. We should arrive back late on Saturday. What time do you leave on Sunday?"

"I'll catch a midday flight," she said, "but this will be a short trip. I expect to be home by the weekend. Will you ride up to Yale with Mozzie?"

"No, with Peter and El. Mozzie's not going."

"What? Mr. Conspiracy missing out on the chance to explore the Beinecke Rare Book Collection?"

"Even he knows he'd never pass muster. The Beinecke has instituted strict security measures after a map was cut out of a rare book. They discovered it last month and still don't have a suspect."

"I should have realized Mozzie would have difficulties. Sterling-Bosch doesn't insure Yale, but Harvard is a client. They're concerned they also may be victimized. How early are you leaving?"

"Peter said they'd pick me up at seven. The rest of the team will arrive later in the day. The competition starts at one o'clock."

Sara made a face. "You won't be able to stay the night."

"They'll pick me up at seven. That gives us plenty of time." He drew her close. Her wet body glistened in the candlelight, inviting him to caress every inch, and he intended to do just that. Sleep was overrated.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC **

Peter didn't need the gallons of coffee Neal glugged on the way to New Haven to wake up. He'd snuck downstairs early to make breakfast while El was still asleep. A romantic getaway and a mystery to solve—who could sleep? His sweetheart had gotten breakfast in bed.

They traded dog-sitting services with a neighbor who had a poodle. Satchmo wouldn't be suffering for attention over the weekend.

When they arrived at Yale, they first stopped at the Skull and Bone headquarters. El and Neal were enthusiastic about the building's Egyptian Revival architecture. It was known as the Tomb, and much to their dismay, it would have to remain sealed. There would be no tomb raiders on this trip. Peter had done his best to secure permission, and Thomas Gardiner had called in favors, but the Bonesmen were unshakable.

In reality, there was no need for them to check out the Tomb. Their quest was its former inhabitants, and for that, Beinecke Library was a much better resource. The challenge was to identify a Bonesman based on a drawing Neal had made of Mozzie's ghost. The man appeared to be in his forties, and they assumed he'd been a resident in Buell Hall. The building had been occupied by patients from 1885 to 1889. Based on Neal's drawing, the ghost would have most likely been a student at Yale in the 1860s. There were no yearbooks from the period but Yale had an extensive collection of photographs.

Thanks to Thomas, their party was shown into a private research room. The materials had already been placed at their disposal. Yale had begun a process of digitizing their photo archives but it wasn't far enough along to provide any assistance.

Neal had provided multiple drawings including close-ups of his face. "Mozzie's not your typical eyewitness," he explained to El. "He has photographic memory and was able to provide precise details. What struck me most about his description was his nose. It's diamond-shaped with an elongated tip." He pointed out the feature in his drawing.

"In other words, we should look for a diamond in the rough?" El said.

"Exactly. Peter, think of it as a baseball diamond."

_Whatever helps_. Peter eyed the stack of photos to go through, more than ever grateful for El's presence. He was beginning to wish he'd concocted a bio for Mozzie that would have passed muster with the authorities.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC **

"We found him!" Neal said jubilantly into the phone. "He has the diamond-shaped tip of the nose just like you described him. Eagle-eyed Peter agreed my drawing is a close match."

"Don't keep me in suspense!" Mozzie pleaded. "Who is he?"

"Charles Ireton." Neal spelled the last name. "We don't know much about him. He was a history major and a Bonesman—class of 1868. We found him in a Skull and Bones group photo. The resemblance was strong even though he was about twenty years younger. Peter was able to locate a second photo taken in 1875 when Ireton was hired to be a bank officer at a New York bank."

"Leave the rest to me. Yale may not have digitized all its photographs, but the historical accounts are accessible."

Neal was relieved to pass on the research assignment. "Have you heard anything from the Winchesters?"

"Sam called. They made a sweep of the tunnels again last night. They didn't find any fissures or traces of tangerine ectoplasm. Sam said if we could find a name, they'd start a search to locate where he's buried. A silver knife will destroy the soul-object, but they want to burn the bones to ensure the ghost can't ever return."

"One less vengeful spirit will be something to celebrate." Neal didn't want to think about what other ghosts were lurking in Oblivion, plotting to escape and take their revenge on whoever they thought had wronged them. The present was beckoning. The other members of the fencing team should have arrived by now. El and Peter were spending part of their anniversary to attend. Losing was not an option.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When the phone rang, Sara welcomed the excuse to take a break. Balancing a checkbook was not her favorite way to spend a Saturday. She would have much preferred to be at Yale with Neal. Surely Henry wouldn't need many more hints so they could skip to the grand reveal.

Her spirits lifted even further when she discovered it was Mozzie on the other end. He rarely called. Was an adventure knocking on the door?

"I thought you might be at loose ends what with your beau in New Haven," Mozzie said. "How would you like to go on a treasure hunt with me?"

"Count me in!" she exclaimed, not bothering to ask for details.

The truth turned out to be not as exciting as she hoped. It was more of a study date in the New York Historical Library. But that ranked high over account balancing. Charles Ireton couldn't remain hidden from their expert sleuthing, and before long he was coughing up details. Their mystery ghost had worked at a bank in New York. He'd been admitted as a patient to the Bloomingdale Mental Asylum in 1879. He'd never married and died from pneumonia in 1887.

With no breadcrumbs to follow after his death, Mozzie began a search for his ancestors. He was determined to prove a link to the Culper Ring and perhaps the Illuminati themselves.

And two hours later, they might have found it.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Is it safe to talk?" Mozzie asked, his voice coming through the cell phone in a barely audible whisper.

Neal glanced around the locker room and chose a back corner. Aidan and Richard were taking showers. He'd already finished his. "The coast is clear. No sign of the Illuminati."

"You mock me but you won't for long." Mozzie reported what he and Sara had discovered. The thought of Sara acting as Mozzie's assistant made Neal smile.

"The Illuminati were originally organized in Bavaria in the late eighteenth century," Mozzie said. "I have a list of their founding members. One of them is William Ireton, the descendant of Henry Ireton who fled to Europe during the years following the overthrow of Oliver Cromwell. His father, also named Henry, was one of Oliver Cromwell's generals. Charles Ireton is Henry's descendant."

"Impressive research, but why are you so excited?"

"Charles Ireton may be the long-sought missing link!"

"Missing link to what?"

"To what ties the Illuminati, the Culper Ring, and Skull and Bones together—the Tudor Crown!"

Neal dropped onto a bench in shock from Mozzie's emotion-packed whisper. Neal had thought Mozzie was merely interested in the Illuminati as another one of those secret organizations who were rumored to be pulling government strings. Interesting, yes, but no need to get fixated on them. But now the Illuminati were much more. The Tudor Crown was legendary. Likely made during the reign of Henry VII or his son Henry VIII, it was a masterpiece of Renaissance craftsmanship. Emeralds, sapphires, rubies, and diamonds coated the gold frame. The crown was reportedly broken up when Cromwell seized power.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had written a mystery called "The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual" where Sherlock Holmes discovered the relic. Was Mozzie determined to repeat the feat for real?

"Henry Ireton married Oliver Cromwell's eldest daughter," Mozzie said. "He was Cromwell's right-hand man. I found a source which indicates he was delegated to preserve the crown. Cromwell didn't want it destroyed. He was safeguarding it for his future use when he became crowned King of England."

"Are you sure about—

"—Of course, I am," he interrupted impatiently. "Power corrupts absolutely. It's inevitable." Before Neal could point out a flaw in his reasoning, he rushed on. "The crown has never been recovered, but there are rumors of it being held by the Illuminati. That was no doubt why George Washington issued his famous warning. He knew the crown had come to the Colonies, and was worried that someone would seize it and declare himself king. I can feel it in my bones, Neal. Ireton's ghost is connected to that crown."

Neal kept his groan to himself. Mozzie's discovery meant that his life was now also entwined with the crown and bad bone puns. "Have you told Sara about your belief?"

Silence for a moment. "I trust her but Sterling-Bosch could pressure her to obtain the crown for themselves."

"Not something you have to worry about," Neal said firmly. "Sterling-Bosch was not handling the insurance needs of Charles I."

"Perhaps not, and she makes a valuable assistant. By the way, you don't have to worry about her being lonely this evening."

He wasn't worried . . . up to now. "Why?"

"We have a date tonight." Mozzie snickered. "Some might say we're venturing into the tunnel of love."

"Does Janet know?" Neal asked as sternly as possible through his grin.

"She does. Janet would come along but she has to work tonight."

Before Neal could cleanse his mind of the ménage à trois horror scene, Mozzie added, "Exploring Columbia's tunnels was Sara's idea. She's a virgin spelunker. I was honored when she asked me to be her guide. You have no cause for concern. The Winchesters checked the area carefully last night. There's no sign of a fissure."

"If you see any slime, you'll scram?"

"Sara is quite an adventuress. I'm not sure I'd be able to dissuade her."

"I'm holding you responsible for her safety!"

"Oh, all right. Since when did you grow—"

"Neal, it's time to leave," Aidan called out. "How much longer are you going to take?"

"Enjoy your evening," Mozzie said. "I know I will."

Richard and Aidan exchanged sly smiles when Neal joined them. "Was that Constance?" Richard asked.

"No, Athos." Mozzie had first introduced himself as Athos to Richard and Aidan, and Neal was relieved he didn't have to explain what Athos was up to. "You ready to go?"

Travis had borrowed a friend's van for the trip so they could all ride in the same vehicle. Electra's house was in the historic district of Prospect Hill. They passed Neo-Georgian and Gothic Revival mansions on the way, but Electra's home was unique. She lived in a Victorian fantasy with porches on multiple stories, large bay windows, and a cupola built on top of a projecting tower. It was framed by the woodlands of Edgerton Park.

"Impressive," Richard said, speaking for all of them. "This reminds me of the mansions on St. Charles Avenue in New Orleans."

"But creepier," Travis added. "Most of them are painted in light colors. Electra's is in shades of gray."

"Did you check out that cupola?" Aidan asked. "Man, that was made for a horror movie. I can just picture a ghost or some other demonic presence peering out the window."

Electra dispelled any scary cobwebs when she appeared at the entrance in an azure-blue silk pantsuit, not in some black outfit like Morticia from the Addams family. Neal was glad he'd warned his friends that she tended to dress on the elegant side. Music was playing in the background. Neal recognized the selection as one of Beethoven's piano sonatas.

She welcomed all of them warmly into her house. Travis was the only one she hadn't met, and she conveyed the impression of being genuinely honored that he'd joined their party.

Electra led them into the salon, an elegant high-ceilinged room with ivory appointments and walnut paneled walls. It was a muted backdrop for the brilliantly colored stained glass windows. Seven panels of angels against star-filled skies, each one dressed in medieval garb and playing an early music instrument.

"They're magnificent!" Neal exclaimed. "Where did you obtain them?"

"I bought them in England. They'd originally been installed in a chapel in Cumbria. My purchase enabled the owners to restore the house and estate. The windows were designed by Sir Edward Burne-Jones."

"He was a student of Dante Gabriel Rossetti," Keiko said. "We're studying him in one of my seminars."

"I have a special fondness for Rossetti and the Pre-Raphaelites," Electra said. "These panels were prepared by the firm of William Morris. But where are my manners? I haven't even offered you anything to drink." She clapped her hands and an immaculately dressed waiter entered the room to take their orders.

Electra recommended a wine from her private collection, and Neal chose it. Rather surprisingly, everyone else did as well. Aidan and Travis usually drank beer. Everyone was going upscale tonight.

The wine Electra served was unlike any Neal had ever drunk, with a dark smoky complexity which challenged his taste buds. He could identify cherry and blackcurrant along with a high level of tannin. Syrah and Grenache grapes were probably the foundation.

Electra resisted his attempt to learn more about it, limiting herself to saying it came from a private vineyard. The art deco label on the bottle wasn't helpful since there wasn't a word of text.

Was it the wine which caused tongues to loosen? Travis, a man normally of few words, was expounding with lyrical enthusiasm on the mesmerizing beauty of the stained glass. "The way the angels are depicted against the stars makes me wonder if they're personifications of the Pleiades star cluster."

She smiled at him. "An apt analogy. My father taught classics and named me and Maia after the sisters. Which one of the angels would I be?"

Neal stared up at the panels along with everyone else. The expressions on the angels were all similar. They possessed a haunting beauty which could equally represent their hostess. Keiko thought the one in the red gown looked like Electra while Aidan preferred one in a cerulean blue. Neal barely noticed the ring of the doorbell as he advocated for his favorite.

A minute later Maia walked in. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were entertaining." Maia already knew the others, having met them at the Renaissance festival last month. She appeared somewhat nervous as she glanced at the group. She was probably uneasy over having intruded on her sister's party.

"As long as you're here, you might as well stay for dinner," Electra said, not appearing pleased at her arrival. Neal had sometimes wondered if there was friction between the sisters. There was an age gap of several years which could account for it.

"Thank you. I'd love to," Maia said brightly, not seeming to notice her sister's lack of enthusiasm, and turned to the others. "Has Electra given you the tour?"

"We were just starting," Electra said. "Keiko, you must see the stained glass in the stairwell. They were also made by William Morris's company."

As the sisters pointed out various features, the strains of Beethoven followed them throughout the house. Among the paintings Electra had hung in the hallway off the salon, Neal found a portrait of the composer as a young man. He lingered to study it.

"I discovered this in an antique store in Vienna," Electra said, approaching him. Her perfume was an exotic floral blend Neal couldn't identify.

"Do you know who the artist was?" he asked.

"Joseph Mahler. He painted a series of portraits of Beethoven." She glanced at the others in their group who were entering the library and added, "I'd like to show you my orchid room. It's said artists are often inspired by their blooms. Perhaps you'll feel the same way."

She guided him into a lush room in crimson velvet which she called the conservatory and then through a set of leaded glass doors into a tropical paradise of plants. The exotic shapes of the blooms and heavy fragrances were intoxicating. But in a room filled with beauty, Electra outshone them all. How could he have failed to notice it before? Electra was radiance personified. He was dazzled beyond rational thought.

She picked up a pair of pruning shears and nipped a faded bloom. "Would you like to help?"

He'd gladly do anything she asked.

"Let me show you how. Be careful. The shears are sharp." She handed him an extra pair of shears. "Observe where to make the cut. It must be at a forty-five degree angle." She had him stand next to her in front of an orchid with carmine red blooms. When she brushed against his jacket, his senses swam.

"You're bleeding!" she exclaimed.

Neal glanced down. Somehow he'd cut the palm of his hand, but he had no recollection of it. The wound was bleeding freely. He must have punctured himself with the shears, but how could he have not known?

"Allow me to see it," Electra said softly, bending over his hand.

"There you are!" Maia said, walking into the room with the others. "We'd wondered where you'd gone."

Electra looked up, her eyes flashing. "I was showing Neal my orchids when he injured himself."

"It's nothing," Neal protested. "Just a minor cut."

"We have first-aid supplies in the kitchen," Maia said, taking him by the arm. "I'll show you the way."

Neal was embarrassed by the fuss. No one else, though, paid him any attention. They were all gazing at Electra with dewy-eyed concentration. When he left the orchid room with its heady fragrances, he felt like he was waking up from a dream. The events, the emotions—all vanished, leaving only vague recollections.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Maia asked in a low voice.

"I think so. The wine must be stronger than I realized."

"It has the same effect on me."

When they entered the modern kitchen, she had him sit down at the kitchen table. The catering staff was bustling around them. Neal regretted getting in their way.

"The cut isn't deep," he said. "All I need is a bandage."

"The shears could have been contaminated by the planting soil. It's best not to take a chance." She sat down next to him, opened her purse, and pulled out two small vials containing dry herbs.

"Do you always come so well equipped?" Neal asked.

She laughed as she sprinkled the contents from the vials onto the wound. As if by magic, the cut stopped bleeding and the edges appear to pull together. "I'd brought these to replenish Electra's supply. I'm glad I had them available."

Neal felt something rub against his leg and looked down to see a pale Siamese cat wearing a jeweled collar. "You must be Daphne," he said, stroking her head with his uninjured hand. "Electra told me she had a cat, but not how beautiful you are."

"Daphne's usually standoffish with strangers," Maia said, smiling. "Clearly, you're an exception."

"I'm honored." Neal scratched behind her ears and was rewarded with a rumbling purr of approval. "It was worth getting a cut to make your acquaintance, _ma petite_. I should have brought some catnip mice along."

Daphne jumped on his lap as if she understood and began to lick his hand. She reminded him of Charlotte, a black cat who'd come to his aid when he was recovering from a sabotaged asthma inhaler. Did cats sense that he was a cat burglar and thus a kindred soul?

What happened in the orchid room was puzzling. It served as a strong reminder to go slow on the wine even though he'd only drunk one glass. He switched to water during dinner. Maia also didn't drink, but the others made up for it. And along with the wine, conversation flowed throughout the meal of filet mignon and vegetarian chard-and-cheese quenelles. Electra asked Aidan about his projects, and he described his latest film—a sci-fi short feature starring Henry which Mozzie had written.

"I've been trying to get Aidan interested in a horror project," Richard said.

"Or one which blends science-fiction and horror," Travis amended. "Those stained-glass angels gave me an idea. What if they're beings from another universe suspended in glass and something happens to cause them to come to life?"

Neal looked at him, startled. He'd never known Travis to speculate about plots. Was this a hidden talent or was he simply inspired by Electra's mansion?

Whatever it was, the others quickly joined in. As their enthusiasm mounted, they interrupted each other with competing ideas. Aidan championed the use of fractal photography to film the production. Keiko was musing about manipulating glass to convey terror while Richard wanted to strip off layers of the angels to reveal their inner demonic side.

"You intrigue me," Electra said. "How serious are you about turning it into an actual project?"

"Very," Aidan said enthusiastically. "I have to prepare another film next semester. Would it be possible for me to photograph your angels to serve as inspiration?"

"Oh, I can do more than that," she said with a smile. "What if I made my house available for you to make the film?"

"You wouldn't mind? I'd probably need at least three or four days of intensive camera work before filming."

"That shouldn't be a problem. When would you like to start production?"

He thought a moment. "Late January would be ideal."

"I'll make a note on my calendar." She scanned the group. "I assume you'll be the actors."

"I haven't gotten far enough along to think about a cast," Aidan protested.

"But you would all be wonderful, I'm sure," she said. "As for the angels, might I suggest Keiko, Maia, and her friend Chloe? Do you know of anyone else?"

Richard turned to Neal. "Do you think you could persuade Sara?"

"Who's Sara?" Electra asked.

"A friend of mine who starred in Aidan's sci-fi feature," Neal explained. Sara would love to participate. Last year he'd thought of her as his muse like the redhead who'd modeled for Rossetti. He'd even started on a Pre-Raphaelite inspired painting, but later laid it aside. Aidan's project and Sara's presence could provide the fresh inspiration it needed.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Maia breathed easier when the group bid Electra goodbye. It was only by chance she'd learned of the dinner. She'd called Chloe to ask about the eidolon sightings and Chloe mentioned that Neal and his friends had been invited to Electra's house. If Maia hadn't been there, Electra would have drunk Neal's blood and he would have been linked to her once more.

Neal seemed unaware of how he'd been injured. Electra must have charmed him. That wine she served made them all susceptible to her. Fortunately the effects were temporary. Afterward, they'd only feel mildly hungover.

Maia helped the wait staff clean up the dining room after the others left. Electra withdrew to the library, giving Maia badly needed time to consider her options. She had a small window open to her. Electra seemed genuinely entranced by the idea of the movie. Why? Did she intend to make them all her victims? Would filming it in the house enhance her power even more? Electra was unlikely to make a move on any of them until that weekend. But once they were back in her house, none of them might escape unscathed.

They had to be warned. She'd return to New York and first tell Neal then admit the truth to Sam and Dean. Electra couldn't be killed, but perhaps there was a way to banish her back to the stars. Once Sam realized who Maia was, he'd never want to see her again, but she couldn't think of that now. Possibly they'd hold off killing her if she could convince them she was on their side and would help them eliminate Electra as a threat.

"Maia, my child . . ." She spun around, startled. Electra was standing at the doorway to the dining room. "We need to talk. Come with me to the library."

Her heart pounding in her chest, Maia obeyed. When Electra closed the door behind them, her panic skyrocketed.

Electra sat down on the leather sofa and gestured for Maia to take a place beside her.

"Do you have an idea on how to thwart Thanatos?" Maia asked. She hoped the quaver in her voice wasn't noticeable.

"We'll discuss him later, dearest." Electra's hand feathered over Maia's cheek. "There was a reason I didn't invite you this evening. You have become too close with Neal and his friends. It wasn't your fault that you became mortal, and I know how distressing this period is for you. Your judgment has become clouded. You are confused." Electra leaned over to kiss her forehead. "This is for the best."

Maia stared, paralyzed with fear, as Electra transformed into Astrena, a towering ice-blue goddess. Her eyes bored into Maia as she gently blew on her . . .

* * *

_Notes: Mozzie's information about the Ireton family is partially accurate. The senior Henry Ireton was one of Oliver Cromwell's generals. He married Cromwell's daughter and had a son named Henry. As for the rest of Mozzie's research and the connection to the Illuminati, I've been unable to verify it._

_Mozzie adopted the Culper Ring as a conspiracy theory in the 4th season episode "Identity Crisis." In my story it's sprouted a couple of offshoots. He's correct that some have linked the Revolutionary War spy network to Skull and Bones. Members of the Culper Ring attended Yale. Skull and Bones was formed in 1832 with one of its founders having studied in Germany, the birthplace of the Illuminati. As for the connection to the Tudor Crown, Mozzie has refused to disclose his sources to me._

_Electra's stained glass is indeed spectacular. There are pins of the panels on my Pinterest board. The glass panels actually reside in St. James Church in Cumbria. _

_The eidolon takes center stage in Chapter 4. Vengeful spirits can be a terrifying subject, particularly for those with troubled pasts such as Neal and Henry's. They're this week's blog topic. Penna has also written a new post, reflecting on what her new job has meant to her writing and how it relates to Neal's experiences. The post is called "Day jobs and side projects."_

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Columbia Ghost Story board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	4. Rendezvous with an Eidolon

**Chapter 4: Rendezvous with an Eidolon**

**Electra's mansion. November 5, 2006. Saturday evening.**

It was midnight. Surely Electra's little dinner party was done by now. Crowley had materialized in Electra's bedroom, just in case. It wouldn't do for Cheekbones and his pals to see him.

The room was empty. Not even Scarbo was around. Electra had probably sent him to torture whoever she was currently feeding on. Crowley walked into the hallway and silently descended the stairs. Music was playing but there were no other sounds. Electra had been in a Beethoven rut recently. It amused her to play music composed by her various victims. The kitchen was quiet, indicating the caterer and his crew had already left. Crowley checked the salon, the conservatory, the orchid room. Had Electra gone off with Cheekbones to Neverland?

She better not have. The last thing they needed was to arouse the suspicions of the Winchesters. Especially after what he discovered about Henry Winslow. The hackers Crowley employed at Riffs had proved their usefulness yet again, and the news was unsettling in the extreme.

It was no coincidence that Henry and Dean looked so much alike. The hackers had discovered why. Henry's great-great-grandfather was named Seth Winslow. He was a secretive type. Disappeared from the family records in 1902. They thought he'd died, but they were wrong. Instead, he'd joined the American branch of the Men of Letters, changing his name to Seth Winchester and deserting his family in the process.

The Men of Letters were anathema to demons. A global secret organization of scholars, they were the sworn enemies of anyone supernatural. The only saving grace was that they held hunters in almost equal contempt. Their headquarters was in London. Crowley was only too familiar with their despicable ways.

A century ago, several chapters existed in the States. Seth joined one in Baltimore. Everyone believed that the American chapters had been decimated in the 1950s, but what if that wasn't true? Henry worked for a family-run company named Winston-Winslow. The name was generally abbreviated to Win-Win. Should it really be called Win-Win-Win? The company was run by a bunch of psychologist-investigators. They fit the profile of Men of Letters to the last letter, and Henry was in the same mold. Win-Win could be a super-branch of the British organization, using data mining to pose an even greater threat to Crowley's comfortable way of life.

And now Henry and Dean were meeting. The absolute worst case scenario was upon them. Hunters had formed an alliance with the scholars. It was enough to make a demon puke.

This afternoon they were spotted at Riffs. Never had Crowley been so pleased he'd set up one of Electra's pure-bloods to run the club. Jeremy took full advantage of the sophisticated camera surveillance system to monitor patrons at all times. His thralls tracked snippets of conversation, and their reports only served to aggravate Crowley's concern. Henry and Dean were caught discussing their family trees, sharing personal information.

Meanwhile, oblivious to the impending catastrophe, Electra was making goo-goo eyes at Cheekbones. Perhaps Maia knew a way to divert Electra onto another target before it was too late. If the paint-pusher were harmed, the wrath of both the hunters and Men of Letters would rain upon them. Even a goddess could be swept away.

Crowley saw a light on in the library. He opened the paneled door and stopped in his tracks. Maia was stretched out on a couch, passed out or unconscious. "What's wrong with her?"

Electra looked up from her book. "She's fine. She's sleeping it off."

"Can't hold her liquor? I didn't think she was invited to the party."

"She wasn't. Maia was showing evidence of conflicted loyalties. I took care of the problem."

Bollocks. Maia was his source for better understanding Electra. "May I ask, Radiant One, which means you used?"

"Maia knows too much about us," she said coldly, not answering him directly. "She consorts with hunters, interferes with my protégés." She glanced at him. "If you want the details, I quarantined her knowledge about Astrena behind a wall which she can't access. All she remembers is that I'm her older sister Electra. The bio I built of her being adopted by my parents remains. Her first memories are when she was a young girl living with me and the fictitious parents I invented." She shrugged. "Once she's reinstated as a handmaiden, I'll restore her memories, but March is still several months off."

"What does she know about me?"

"You have no cause for concern. Maia thinks you're a business associate who is enamored with me. She has no knowledge of your actual work. She'll wake up in an hour. Her only memories of the party will be what I left intact."

Had Electra already struck? Was Armageddon at their doorstep? "Did you enjoy your time with Cheekbones?" he ventured cautiously.

She scowled at Maia. "Not as much as I'd hoped."

Crowley breathed easier. Little mouse must have thwarted her. It didn't sound like Electra had reestablished her link, but he'd soon find out.

"It's all for the best," she continued. "Something even more delicious came up. I knew there was a reason I wanted Neal's artist friends to visit me, but the prospects are so much better than I anticipated!"

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal delegated himself to be the designated driver for the trip home. The others were so absorbed in discussing the project that no one even commented on him having made the decision for them. The film would be another short feature. Keiko and Richard dreamed up horror sequences while Aidan conducted a monologue on special effects. Travis seemed to be lost in his own science-fiction world.

Gradually the chatter slowed and the pauses lengthened. By the time Neal crossed the state line, his passengers were all asleep. He let them doze till they arrived at Columbia. Aidan and Keiko were the first to be dropped off since they lived in an apartment building near the campus.

No one appeared to be suffering from any hangover symptoms, and Travis took over the driving responsibility after they reached June's place. Had the group's drowsiness been caused by the wine or was it an aftereffect of the creative brainstorming which had taken place? Electra's soirées at her bookstore had been described as the modern equivalent of the literary gatherings popular in France during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Did something similar take place during dinner?

Neal wasn't particularly tired when he got back to the loft but it was after midnight. He texted Sara since she was probably already asleep. Before going to bed, he researched the Tudor Crown on the web. If there actually was a connection to Charles Ireton, there was a slim chance it could be discovered in New York City. Would Mozzie believe Ireton had buried it in the tunnels? In that case, the extraterrestrials he was convinced had visited the tunnels might have carried it off.

It was midmorning by the time Neal awoke. As soon as his eyes focused, he checked his phone for messages but there was nothing from Sara. Neal wasn't concerned. She might have overslept and was running late. He knew she'd call from the airport once she checked in.

But as the morning advanced, he still didn't hear from her. All his attempts to contact her went to voice mail. Conceivably she could have gone on an earlier flight. But at the very least, she would have texted him from the airport. The last time he'd heard from her or Mozzie was yesterday afternoon when they planned to go into the tunnels.

Was it time to sound the alarms?

Janet hadn't heard from Mozzie either, and he wasn't answering any of the numbers Neal tried. This was Sara's first trip to the tunnels. Mozzie wouldn't have led her into a hazardous area, but what if Sara persuaded him to venture into one of the old brick tunnels?

Richard and Aidan would be willing to help in a search, but Neal couldn't expose his friends to the risk of confronting an eidolon. Peter and El were probably on the road back to New York, but there was nothing Peter could do from the car, and Neal didn't want to wreck the ending of their anniversary trip unnecessarily.

This was the time to follow office procedures. Jones was Peter's second-in-command and the go-to person when Peter was unavailable. Neal picked up his phone and dialed Jones's cell.

"Yeah, Caffrey, what's up?"

"I've got a favor to ask. I hope I'm wrong, but Mozzie and Sara could be in danger. They planned to explore the Columbia tunnel system yesterday evening, and I haven't been able to reach either one of them all morning."

"You think the ghost got them?" Jones leaped to the assumption that Neal was trying to avoid.

"Or they had an accident in the tunnels. Sara was supposed to fly out at noon from LaGuardia Airport to Atlanta. The plane should have already taken off." Neal named the airline.

He heard the scratching of a pen. "I should have something for you within the hour," Jones promised.

"I'll call Dean. He may have heard something from Mozzie."

"Don't go into the tunnels alone."

"I won't," Neal assured him.

The Winchesters had been on campus the previous evening but hadn't seen Mozzie and Sara. They agreed to meet Neal in front of the university's main library. By the time Neal met them, Jones had come through with a report from the airline.

"She wasn't on the flight," Neal said. "Jones checked all the other flights to Atlanta to confirm that she hadn't taken another one."

"Still no word from Mozzie?" Dean asked.

Neal shook his head. "Peter called. He's already back in town. I filled him in and he's on his way." Neal had already moved beyond the point of worrying about wrecking Peter and El's anniversary weekend.

"Dean and I took turns patrolling around Buell Hall yesterday evening," Sam said. "We didn't see anything suspicious."

"Did you have any luck finding the cemetery where Ireton may be buried?"

"The most likely cemetery is a site called the Uptown Trinity Church Cemetery. It's about forty blocks north of here on Riverside Drive. Several of the wealthier patients were buried there."

"We've been unable to find anything which could be the dude's soul-object," Dean said, grimacing. "The building was emptied of furnishings before the reconstruction work, and, man, there's nothing there. No paintings. No bric-a-brac."

"Diana checked with the university," Neal said. "They claimed there were no historical items from the nineteenth century at Buell, but Sara discovered a record confirming that Ireton was a resident, so it's the most likely place to find something."

Dean and Sam didn't reply. What could they say? A soul-object could be anything that had belonged to Ireton. It might have been discarded when the plasterboard was removed. If the object couldn't be found, there'd be no stopping his ghost.

They walked the short distance to Buell Hall. Campus police were keeping it under constant surveillance. Before Neal could pull out his badge, Sam already had his out. The glow of having a legal ID apparently hadn't faded.

But IDs weren't what was needed. When the security guard tried to open the front door, he couldn't insert the key into the lock. It was as if the lock had been sealed by a solid metal plate.

"It wasn't like this yesterday," Dean said, scowling at the door, and turned to the guard. "Did you do anything to the locks?"

"Not me." He pulled out his cell phone and called the office. According to the official records, nothing in the building had been tampered with.

Neal crouched to squint through the keyhole. There was nothing visible clogging the mechanism, but when he inserted a lock pick, he encountered the same barrier.

"We could ram the door," Sam suggested. But even with the weight of all four of them against the door, it didn't budge.

The back door to the hall was similarly sealed. The hall had several casement windows on the ground floor. They should be easy enough to open, but they were locked in place as well.

"Let me test a theory," Dean said, pulling out a heavy-caliber handgun. "Stand back and take cover." He waited for them to reposition themselves around the corner. He then aimed the gun squarely at one window, fired, and quickly ducked. The bullet ricocheted off the glass and struck a tree trunk.

"That hall's been sealed tighter than a bank vault," Dean said grimly.

Was tomb a better description? With Sara and Mozzie already dead inside? Neal swallowed back the panic that was rising in his throat. He saw Peter striding toward them and the knot inside him loosened just a bit.

"Diana and Jones wanted to come too," Peter said, "but I told them to hold off till we know more about what we're dealing with. They're on standby."

"As are Richard, Travis, and Aidan," Neal said, "but with a ghost stalking the passages, I can't take the risk of them being underground."

"By rights, we shouldn't let you come with us either," Dean asserted. "You've never confronted a ghost."

"And you've never squared off against an eidolon," Peter countered. "The tunnels we'll be in are restricted for a reason. They're dangerous, and that's ignoring supernatural threats." He faced Neal. "Did Mozzie give any indication of where he was taking Sara?"

"He was taking her on a tour of the safe areas—the signature room and the legal corridors—but she might have asked to visit one of the older brick sections."

Peter frowned. "Then they could have had an accident anywhere."

"Not likely," Neal insisted. "Mozzie wouldn't have knowingly exposed Sara to any risk."

"So we're talking ghost involvement," Dean said, cutting to the chase.

"I was inside Buell yesterday afternoon," Sam said. "Something happened to cause the eidolon to ward the building overnight, but it might be unrelated to their disappearance. The guard is sure no one entered the building."

"There could be an entrance to Buell from the tunnel," Neal suggested. "The building has a basement. An old entrance could have been sealed off. Can ghosts teleport?"

"Some can," Dean admitted, "but I doubt he could teleport both Mozzie and Sara with him. Do you know if any tunnel connects to the building?"

"There's nothing documented but I should be able to get us close. If there's an entrance, I'll find it." Neal added confidence to his voice to mask his fear. The previous victims had been found inside Buell. Were Sara and Mozzie already in a coma? The ghost had teleported them one at a time into the building. How had he overwhelmed them? Were they already branded? Peter was demanding details from the Winchesters. Neal forced himself to pay attention.

"What happens if we confront it?" Peter asked. "How can we fight back?"

"I have a shotgun loaded with rock salt. Sometimes salt will cause a ghost to vanish." Dean pointed to a large nylon gym bag at his feet. "We also brought along a couple of iron pokers. If you strike a ghost with anything made of iron, they disintegrate for at least a couple of minutes. That often provides enough time for you to regroup."

"But no guarantees with an eidolon," Sam warned. "We've never faced one. They may not have the normal weaknesses. According to the Coptic monk's manuscript, we have to spear the soul-object with a silver knife to make it disappear permanently."

Dean picked up the bag. "Got that."

"We figure we better burn the bones too," Sam added. "That's the normal procedure to destroy a ghost. If we're lucky, it may keep the eidolon from ever making a return visit from Oblivion with some other soul-object."

"That's where Diana and Jones can help," Dean said. "We're pretty sure we've pinpointed the cemetery." He turned to Sam. "You could meet them there. It's a large place. Searching through the tombstones will take a while."

"And if you're going to exhume the coffin and burn bones, you better have an FBI presence," Peter cautioned. "I'll give them a call."

When Sam left for the cemetery, Neal took the others to the nearest legal tunnel entrance which was located in Avery Hall. It wasn't far from an opening into a restricted area that the others could manage. He wasn't worried about Dean who'd already patrolled the tunnels with Mozzie, but this was Peter's first time to explore them.

"I'm sorry to drag you into this," he told Peter as they walked through the legal corridor.

"This wasn't your fault," Peter said. "Somehow I knew this day would come, but I wish it wasn't under these circumstances. I thought about contacting campus officials, but obtaining permission on a Sunday to access restricted areas would have eaten up too much time."

Their access point to the restricted area was a manhole cover, concealed behind a steam conduit. The low passageway made them walk stooped over but they only had to go a few yards before Neal pointed out another manhole. This was a significant drop. Both Peter and Dean eyed it uneasily. Mozzie had shown the Winchesters a different access point, but it was much further away. Neal didn't want to risk any delay.

"There's a ladder you can hold onto," he pointed out. "I'll go first and help you at the bottom." They were finding out why tunnelers called their activity spelunking. The tunnels had much in common with underground caves.

Once they were safely through, they were in a brick-lined passageway, one of the oldest of the system. Neal had plotted Buell's location on his tunnel map. GPS didn't work underground, and the others were relying on his inner compass. It had stood him good stead in the labyrinth of the Louvre attics. He was counting on equal success here.

When they arrived at the location where Mozzie initially found the ectoplasm, Dean paused to take a reading. He showed them the results. "This is a high spike, even though there's no slime. My bet is the eidolon was here." He passed out the pokers to Peter and Neal.

That was better than thinking more could have escaped.

The tunnel was lined with large pipes almost two feet in diameter. Openings to side passageways were difficult to spot. Mozzie wouldn't have taken Sara into a dangerous area, but the eidolon could have dragged them anywhere, especially if they were unconscious. They were all using their headlamps to spot side outlets. The victims at Buell had been beyond help. If Ireton had taken Sara and Mozzie, what chance was there of them still being alive?

After twenty minutes of exploration, Neal found the first positive sign they were on the right track. He pointed it out to the others. "Tunnelers often leave tags. This is the one Mozzie uses." He shone his headlamp on the design made with a felt-tip pen.

Peter's brow wrinkled. "A dot and concentric circles? What's that supposed to mean?"

"He told me Australian shamans used it to reference honey."

Peter snorted. "I should have known."

"Any sign of Sara?" Dean asked.

"I bet this is her tag. Mozzie would have suggested she leave something." Next to Mozzie's symbol was scrawled a semi-arc at a 45-degree angle with two upward concave slashes. There was no doubt in his mind that Sara had made it. He'd designed it for her as a secret signature.

"Any idea what it's supposed to be?" Peter asked.

"A bird," he said softly. "Those two upward lines probably represent wings." He resisted the urge to stroke it. She'd asked for a bird because her Arkham character was linked to a mockingbird. Was she now caged somewhere with Mozzie? Or perhaps they'd managed to elude the ghost and were hiding somewhere waiting to be rescued. He flailed to find other hopeful possibilities. The worst case scenarios were staring in his face.

Peter clasped his shoulder. "We'll find them, and they'll be alive. It's been less than twenty-four hours. We need to head on."

Neal nodded, not trusting his voice. Dean had moved further down the tunnel, clambering over pipes to get a better view, a reminder Neal should do the same.

One branch after another turned out to be a dead end. By now they were all drenched in sweat from the oppressive heat. They'd brought along water bottles, but they were fast emptying. The legal tunnels were far above them now. An occasional scurry alerted them to the presence of rats, but they were seldom seen. Another time Neal might have joked about what else could make that kind of sound but not now.

"If we don't find an outlet soon, we'll have to take a timeout and regroup," Peter said, his face blackened by grime.

Neal didn't argue, but there was no way he'd abandon the search.

Dean indicated a dark opening behind a pipe. "We haven't checked this tunnel yet."

Neal scrambled forward. The passage looked promising. It was on an incline, angled steeply upward, daring him to hope it would lead to the basement of Buell Hall.

Peter swept the ground with his headlamp. "See those streaks? They could indicate something or someone was dragged over the bricks."

"And not just that," Dean said. "There's orange-colored ectoplasm along the sides." The slimy substance glittered in the beam of his headlamp. They'd found their eidolon.

With bent backs, they hiked up the low passage. Neal's thighs burned from the exertion. The others must be feeling it as well. No one spoke as they dug deep into their inner reserves. And the payout was ahead—a ramshackle wood door at the crest of the incline. The planks making up the door had cracks in several places.

Before Neal could open it, Dean grabbed his hand. "Here's the drill," he ordered. "I go in first. If Ireton's there, the best we can do is drive him away, but it will only be temporary. Until we find its soul-object, rock salt and iron won't hold him for long."

"If this does open into the basement of Buell, it must be a sealed-up section," Peter warned. "I inspected that basement and there was nothing resembling this."

"Suppose a room had been walled off," Neal said, excited at the possibility. "That could be where he's been lurking. His soul-object could be there too."

"A solid wall means nothing to ghosts," Dean added. "They can pass right through them."

Dean pulled out his sawed-off shotgun from his backpack and took a breath. Neal tightened his grip on his iron poker and noticed Peter doing the same. With a nod to them, Dean cautiously tried the door knob. The door was unlocked. It creaked open with minimal effort.

Whatever room they were in was as pitch-black as the tunnels. There was no sound. No eerie howls. The air smelled stale and musty. If it was a sealed up cavity, the only air would be what came in from the tunnels.

All speculation was cast aside when they caught sight of the two bodies. Sara and Mozzie were lying motionless on the floor. The slime coating glistened in the light from their headlamps. Neal's heart leaped in his throat as he crouched next to Sara. Her eyes were closed. Her pallor looked extreme underneath the slime. He felt for a pulse, holding his breath.

"Mozzie's alive," Peter said. "It looks like we got here in time. How's Sara? . . . Neal?"

Neal mastered his voice. "She's alive too. No blood. She must be bruised, but between the slime and the grime, it's hard to tell. No sign of a brand."

"I don't see one on Mozzie, either."

"That means he plans to return," Dean cautioned as he studied the walls of the small room. "We better find that soul-object fast."

Peter stood up. "We're trapped as long as we stay here. We'll have to tear down walls, do whatever's necessary to make an exit. Being chased back into the tunnels is unacceptable."

Neal didn't want to leave Sara, but he forced himself to examine the room. It may have served as a storeroom at one time. It was about fifteen feet square with a couple of old bookcases on the wall and a roll-top desk. There were a few items on the bookcase. The desk was locked, but it was trivial to open with a lock pick. The drawers were crammed with papers, fountain pens, and office supplies.

Dean had been studying the wall opposite the entrance to the tunnel. "Peter, take a look at this."

Peter shone his light on the dingy plasterboard and felt along the surface. "This section's been patched. You can feel the mud is uneven."

"That's my bet as well. It may have been a panel which opened into the basement."

"Meaning someone sealed it, then exited through the tunnel. Mozzie's theory of Ireton being a conspiracy theorist could be right. Someone made a secret room out of this."

"It's time to open this sucker up," Dean said, taking his poker to the wall. The two of them started hacking at the plasterboard with their pokers.

"Should I smash everything in the desk with the silver knife?" Neal suggested.

"Can't hurt," Dean grunted and stopped to toss him a knife.

Peter directed Dean to punch holes in a circle large enough for them to squeeze through. They were then able to kick the plasterboard free. Dean crawled through first. "It's the basement, all right."

A screech blasted the air from the opening, making Neal's hair stand on end.

"We got company!" Dean yelled.

Neal darted to the opening, but Peter shoved him back. "You got your job. Find that soul-object! We'll deal with the ghost." Peter gave him an extra push then followed Dean through the hole.

Neal tackled the desk once more. There were only papers in the bookcase. The desk had to contain the object. It was supposed to be something personal. He kept watching for signs of life from Sara and Mozzie, but none of the slashes he made with the knife were effective.

The sounds of the struggle were loud in his ears—the shouts, pops of gunfire, clanks of pokers. The men appeared to be leading the ghost away as the sounds receded. Or had they been overcome as well? Would the eidolon ignore them and return to finish off his victims?

In desperation, Neal yanked out the drawers and scattered the contents on the floor. One item caught his eye among the old containers and tin boxes—a gold oval pendant. The gold case was engraved with the letters _H_ and _I_ in elaborate tracery. Neal pried it open to see the miniature of a man in armor. He hated to disfigure it, but he had no choice. He hacked at the circular clasp with his blade, hoping that would be enough.

He paused to shine his headlamp on his friends. When Sara moaned, Neal rushed to her side as Mozzie also began to stir.

She held a dazed hand to her forehead. "Where am I?"

"With me. You're safe now." Neal said, realizing she must be blinded by his light. He flung off his helmet.

"Neal?" Her hand reached up to touch his face as he bent forward to kiss her.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter gritted his teeth and swung his iron poker as if it were a baseball bat. The rock salt in Dean's shotgun was minimally effective against the ghost who'd sprung out of nowhere. Although the salt slowed him down momentarily, it also seemed to enrage him even more.

He and Dean were attempting to lure Ireton away from the opening. Their only chance rested with Neal destroying his soul-object.

The ghost opened his mouth and with a roar blew a cloud of orange gas straight at him.

"Stay away from it!" Dean yelled. "That gas could be what knocks people out."

Peter darted to the side while Dean blasted him with more rock salt. When Ireton staggered back, they charged toward the stairs as if they were trying to escape. With a terrifying yowl, the ghost leaped in front of them and blasted them with slime.

The sticky goo coated Peter's face. He couldn't see and began to flail blindly with his poker.

Then, as quickly as it started, it ended. With a final howl, Ireton dissolved in front of their eyes.

"Is he really gone or is he simply regrouping?" Peter asked, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Dean pointed at the large pool of ocher-colored slime on the floor. "That's all that's left of him." He pulled his cell phone out. "Got a voicemail from Sam. If he burned the bones, you've seen the last of Charles Ireton."

While Dean called his brother, Peter went back to check on Neal and the others. When he looked through the opening, Neal was giving an excellent imitation of Prince Charming kissing Snow White. Mozzie was sitting on the floor, seemingly none the worse from his nap. Ignoring Neal and Sara, he was sorting through the papers on the floor while muttering to himself.

Peter smiled and backed off. Was this the confirmation of what he'd hoped for? Ever since the rescue operation in Hungary, he'd wondered if Neal and Sara were dating in secret. Was Alicia someone Neal had dreamed up to throw the matchmakers off track? But Neal and Sara had kissed—a lot—for various cons. They were good friends, and she'd nearly died. Peter had witnessed Neal give a similarly passionate kiss to Bianka outside the FBI building before he knew she was a spy. He later said the kiss meant nothing. He once told Henry he was simply open with his feelings and warned him not to attach much meaning to any display of affection. Peter was so out of his area of expertise, he'd be hard pressed to say what the correct answer was.

If Sara was Alicia and they were dating, Peter wasn't about to be the one to upset the apple cart. He was content to have Neal tell him when he was ready.

"You okay in there?" he called out and counted to twenty before crawling through the opening. Stupid question. By Sara's look of bliss, she was fine, and Neal was more than fine.

"Neal was catching us up on what we missed," Sara said, looking flushed.

_I bet. _"What was the soul-object?"

Neal held out a miniature portrait. "This resembles a painting I found of Henry Ireton, Cromwell's general. It must have been a family heirloom."

Mozzie looked up. "Suit, do you realize what we have here?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."

"A secret meeting room for the New York branch of the Illuminati!"

Dean stuck his head through the opening. "Having fun, kids? You'll be happy to hear the bones are burned. Sam found the grave. Diana and Jones had to chase a couple of cops away, but all's good. They're on their way. No victims upstairs and the building's no longer sealed."

While Mozzie continued to rummage through the papers, Sara explained what had occurred. Unfortunately she had few details she could share. "The ghost attacked us so swiftly, we had no chance to react. He was venting some sort of orange gas. The next thing I knew Neal was leaning over me."

Both she and Mozzie claimed to have no aftereffects from the ordeal except for an urgent need for showers and food. Peter waited for Mozzie to tease Neal about the Prince Charming maneuver, but he didn't. Further confirmation that Sara was Alicia and Mozzie was aware of the con? Or was it a signal that Mozzie knew better than to attribute any significance to it? Probably, it was simply that Mozzie was too wrapped up in his secret society theory to pay them any notice.

By the time Diana, Jones, and Sam arrived, Travis was on his way with a forensics team. They'd be in charge of collecting the ectoplasm. Peter had also called for EMTs to confirm Sara and Mozzie didn't need to go to the hospital for their showers.

"There we were overlooking the Hudson River, burning bones," Diana said. "That will make my yearly list of highlights."

"Newbie enthusiasm," Dean muttered. "Trust me, after you've done a hundred, it gets old."

"One less ghost to come back in the world?" Jones countered. "That's worth a celebration drink at the bar. I'm buying." He paused to scan them. "Maybe tomorrow. After you're no longer dripping goo."

Mozzie didn't let a little thing like slime dampen his enthusiasm for sorting through old records. Come to think of it, being slimed was probably his dream come true.

As for Peter, he was anxious to return home and get cleaned up. Neal's offer of a shower first was appreciated, but he'd manage with plastic bags on the upholstery. His anniversary girl was waiting for him, and Neal and Michael weren't the only ones who could nail the Prince Charming role.

"Found it!" Mozzie waved a paper in the air excitedly.

"Found what?" Neal asked.

"Proof that Charles Ireton was a member of the Illuminati! This paper is written in their code. Now all I have to do is decipher it and then—" Mozzie clamped his mouth shut and glanced at them furtively.

The agent in Peter immediately sensed trouble ahead. "What do you expect to discover?" he demanded.

"Nothing much." He shrugged. "Old meeting notes. I'm sure nothing interesting."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"The Tudor Crown?" Sara's gasp was audible over the phone. "Can it possibly exist?"

Neal swung his legs onto the couch and took a sip of wine. "Mozzie thinks so. He's convinced that Charles Ireton wasn't insane. He was working undercover for the Illuminati while hiding out in Buell Hall. This was the Gilded Age in America. A lot of wealth. A lot of corruption. Mozzie believes the Illuminati were active in forming the first formal U.S. intelligence operations."

"He was telling me about his theory on Saturday. He makes a strong case. Intelligence offices were established in the Navy and Army in the 1880s, but he was vague about how a secret branch of the Illuminati could have anything to do with the military."

Neal shrugged. "There were members of Skull and Bones who were involved in their establishment. For Mozzie, that's a relatively small leap. The paper he found wasn't much help. It was a list of names and addresses."

"The quest for the Tudor Crown begins! I hope he finds it." She was silent for a moment. "Mozzie waxed rhapsodic about the catacombs in Paris before the ghost ruined our exploration plans. Tunnels may be in my blood now. Next time I hope you're along."

The global possibilities were endless—hidden passageways, long-lost treasures. Sara's encounter with an eidolon hadn't diminished her enthusiasm one whit. Henry was right. She was an ideal match for him . . . except for one glaring issue.

Sara might have taken the ordeal in stride, but he hadn't. If Peter hadn't been along, would he have been able to hold it together? She insisted that it was her fault she and Mozzie had been snatched by the ghost. She was the one who had pleaded to go into the old tunnels.

Neal didn't fault her. If it had been his first time in the tunnels, he would have felt the same way. And that was the problem in a nutshell. They thought too much alike. He knew if he tried to shield her, she'd have the same reaction he did when Peter attempted to wrap him in cotton wool.

So Neal clamped down on his tongue. He'd learned from his mistakes. He wasn't going to blow it with Sara as he had with Fiona. Sara wanted to be a partner, not a princess in a tower. No mollycoddling. Right.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Will my lord bring another eidolon to New York?" Scarbo asked.

"Not right away," Quint said. He'd met his skulking helper at the entrance to a brick tunnel from the 1860s near Pupin Hall. It was a branch Mozzie knew nothing about and Quint had no intention of telling him. The demon's question was one he'd asked himself. It had been an unpleasant shock to have Ireton's ghost dispatched so readily. He hadn't realized hunters knew about soul-objects. Unfortunate. He'd hoped to eventually snare Neal, not a random woman and Mozzie. But as a trial balloon, its first flight had been a success.

Quint's main objective had been met. Astrena knew he was back. Scarbo had been an excellent spy, eavesdropping on her discussions. Her unease would continue to grow, along with her concern over what his next target would be.

Scarbo was eyeing his pocket hungrily. Quint fished out one of the mushrooms and offered it on his palm. It pleased him to watch Scarbo devour it.

Quint had already hacked into Astrena's foundation's database. He could trace her actions, her trips to New York. This was just a warmup for his next performance. Mozart was one of her many victims who now resided in Oblivion. The composer had been thirsting for revenge for over two hundred years. He'd waited long enough.

* * *

_Notes: Mozart's time will come in my next Crossed Lines story, Night Music. The Tudor Crown and the Winslow Winchester connection will be topics in future stories, as well as the short feature Aidan wants to make about Electra's stained-glass panels. _

_Thankfully the miniature Neal found didn't need to be destroyed. The artifact is back in the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge, England. It was painted by George Perfect Harding in 1649. There's a pin of it as well as one of the Tudor Crown on my Pinterest board._

_Thanks for joining me on this adventure and special thanks to Penna for sharing her supernatural beta magic with me. I've been playing with ideas for this story for over four years, and I wrote about the experience for the blog. The post is called Columbia Ghost Story Sandbox. __Next week I'll start posting the next Arkham Files story, Time Crystals. It includes Henry's introduction to the series. I hope you'll join us!_

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation__  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Columbia Ghost Story board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


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